Heroine Rising
by MaryJade
Summary: The years and hardships that transformed Marian Hawke from refugee to Champion were shaped by those she loved, and by those she hated. But not even Varric could ever know how much.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: It's been a very very long time since I've written anything, but after playing Dragon Age 2, I felt I couldn't help myself. Every player forms a different Hawke with the decisions they make with him/her. I couldn't help but want to take a look at Kirkwall's events through Hawke's own eyes and thoughts, not just her actions and decisions. Personal feelings and relationships affect everyone's lives, and I think Hawke should be no different. This is the result. Those who have played the game will recognize quotes and my many manglings of quotes. I'll try to keep those to a minimum, using only ones I feel had a certain weight in the story. Marian Hawke is beginning to run away with me however, and while this fic will largely keep to the story arc of the game, I have a feeling she's going to push me a bit beyond it.**

**I apologize in advance for any errors. I've read and reread this over and over again, but I'm quite certain I missed something. Just let me know. I welcome any and all constructive criticism. Feel free to give me a head's up if you see something that could have been done/written/expressed better.**

**Disclaimer: Bioware owns everything. Including my imagination, apparently.**

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><p>The Hightown market was bustling with people. There was a wide sampling of Kirkwall's population in this district. Barkers noisily advertised their wares to passersby. The nobles who made it their home strolled leisurely through the square, while their servants bustled to and fro with the day's chores. Even the residents of Lowtown could be seen. They sidled around the edge of the market, trying to stay out of the busiest sections on their way to the Chantry. During the day, the market square was full of noise and color and people.<p>

Hawke rarely ever ventured up into this part of the city. The sideways glances people threw her way were almost too much to tolerate. She carried the grime of Lowtown with her, and her weapons were ugly and cruel. They valued function over form. No one who took sight of the warrior in her battered mercenary plate, with a well-used broadsword slung casually over her back, could doubt for a moment that she knew how to use it. That sort of notion made the nobles of Hightown nervous.

Hawke's booted feet rang out heavy steps as they walked away from the merchant's guild. It was better to have the disapproving eyes turned on her. At her side, Bethany did a fabulous job of looking meek. She had acquired the habit of walking with her staff in hand while in public. At least this way she could feign some recent injury that made a walking aid necessary. She had even gone so far as to wear chain mail over her tunic, and carry small, wicked looking knives. They were purely for show. Bethany was horribly clumsy when it came to knife work. More often than not, she wounded herself with them before anyone else. The irony of that wasn't lost on Hawke. Her sister could burn down half the mansions in Hightown with the wrong word.

The time in Kirkwall had changed them both. A year's service as a mercenary made Marian Hawke harder than any woman of her upbringing had any business being. The hardships of their refugee life were carried largely on her shoulders. Their mother was growing older and their good for nothing uncle was precisely that. After the death of her youngest brother in the frantic flight from Lothering, Marian had stepped forward. She was not only the self-appointed head of the family, but took Bethany's protection as her strict responsibility. While the two had been employed with the Red Iron, the Templars were never a worry. However, now they were on their own. The old fear of Templars discovering her apostate sister haunted Hawke daily.

She was doing everything she could to better their situation. She had heard rumblings about an expedition to the Deep Roads that a dwarven merchant was planning. They had just attempted to speak to the insufferable git. The two were resolutely, and rather rudely, turned away.

"We have to find something, Marian. We have to have something to hide behind: money, status, power, something. We've been in Kirkwall a year, and it's by the Maker's grace alone that the Templars haven't found us yet." Bethany worried her bottom lip as she walked.

"I almost hate to say this, but I think we'd best ask Uncle what he knows." Hawke really did hate to say it. Their Uncle Gamlen was one of the greasiest, most slippery bastards she'd ever met. Unfortunately, in their situation, it seemed that was precisely what they needed. The sisters had served their mercenary year, and were both ready to get out. The money in mercenary work was good, but they had never actually seen any of it. Meeran would've been very unpleasant if they had stuck around long enough to ask for a cut in profits. Not to mention more often than not their work offended Bethany's delicate sensibilities. Indentured servitude was a bitch.

"I think you're right. I didn't want to have to ask him for any more help. He'll be more difficult to live with than he is now, but I don't see any other options. We need coin and we need it fast." They dropped into silence. Bethany's staff thunked absentmindedly on the cobblestones. Years of long practice kept Hawke's booted steps in time with the rhythmic clunking.

A body collided with Hawke as she walked, a boy, it seemed. Street urchins were less common in Hightown, but they were still around if you knew where to look. He muttered a quick apology before darting back into the corners. Only then did Hawke's mind put two and two together. The only urchins that lurked in Hightown were pickpockets.

Her hand dropped immediately to her belt where, to her chagrin, her painfully light coin purse was completely gone. She whirled around and saw a flash of the boy's orange hair disappear into an alley.

With a muttered curse, Hawke gave chase, Bethany close on her heels. She fully expected to have lost the boy as she rounded the corner into the alley. Urchins were annoyingly slippery when they needed to be. No boy who thieved in Hightown was likely to linger when he'd just stolen from an angry woman carrying an enormous sword.

To her surprise, the boy was still in the short alley. Not only was he there, but he wasn't running. Hawke soon deduced why as she saw a dark shaft protruding from his shoulder. A quarrel was buried deep enough to pin the boy against the stones, yet clearly not a fatal wound. With a boy that small, Hawke mused that whoever could make that shot without hitting anything vital must have been one hell of a marksman.

The shooter in question strode into her line of vision, approaching the boy. A beautifully crafted crossbow half as large as the dwarf was slung lovingly on his back. Hawke slowed to a walk. Chasing down a street urchin for her coin purse was one thing. If this archer really wanted whatever that boy had, he was more than capable of taking it, and defending it. He didn't strike Hawke as much of a runner.

He also didn't strike her as the usual type of dwarf. He hit the boy with a nasty right hook and ripped his quarrel out of the urchin's shoulder. The wound there was bleeding profusely, but it would heal. A quick jerk of the head had the boy sprinting to the edge of the district. The dwarf turned and approached Hawke, her tiny coin purse held up openly in his palm. She stopped as he neared her.

He was obviously dwarven, but there were a few details of his appearance that didn't seem to match anything she had learned about dwarves. His face was covered in light stubble, rather than the full beards most dwarven men wore. His hair had been slicked back with a fair amount of care. Golden hoops swung from his ears, matching the ostentatious chain he wore around his neck. The dwarf was dressed sumptuously in red, delicate golden embroidery winding its way down the tunic's ridiculously low cut collar. Yet there was an air of practicality surrounding the vanity. A heavy belt cinched a ranger's duster closed around his waist. His boots and gloves, while handsome, were of high quality leather. The grooves in both sets of accessories spoke years of hard use and attentive care. The crowning glory was the crossbow. The proximity of it now proved Hawke's initial assessment correct. It was a magnificent weapon. The stock was a deep polished red wood. Delicate tooling and brass colored fittings gave the monstrous weapon an air of delicacy. The dwarf handled it with an ease that Hawke wished she could claim with her sword.

"Lose something, human?" His words broke into her thoughts. She cursed herself for drifting off at such a moment. He held her coin purse in his outstretched hand. Hawke took it cautiously. The recently used crossbow quarrel was spinning through his fingers like a windmill as he introduced himself.

"Varric Tethras at your service. I couldn't help overhearing your rather heated conversation with my brother. I think we could be of some assistance to each other." His voice was smooth and measured. There was a cocky lilt behind his words, as if everything he said was one word away from becoming the punch line of a joke.

Hawke raised an eyebrow at the dwarf. To call the conversation they had just come from "heated" was an understatement. Marian and Bethany had wanted in on the expedition. Bartrand was having none of it, despite their darkspawn fighting experience. He had used several colorful words to explain to them in great detail that nothing they said would influence his answer.

"Bartrand's your brother?" Hawke eyed Varric for a moment. The dwarf standing in front of her was as different from Bartrand as night and day. Not to mention Varric had a way of speaking that didn't make everyone within earshot want to kill him.

Varric chuckled. "Hard to believe, I know. He's a thick headed fool most days, and today is no exception. He doesn't see what he has right in front of him. The two of you are interested in going into the Deep Roads? I'm willing to help make that happen."

"You'll convince Bartrand to hire us on?" Bethany piped up from Hawke's side. The girl was so quiet, half the time Hawke forgot she was there.

Varric shook his head and Hawke felt her tiny hope flicker dangerously. "We don't need any more hirelings. We need a partner. Fifty sovereigns buys you in to the expedition with a full share of the profits."

Hawke didn't mean to let the mocking laugh past her lips, but there was little to help that now. "If we had that kind of coin, we wouldn't need this job."

"Now just hear me out. You need to think bigger. Fifty sovereigns is a lot of money, but compare it to the riches that wait in the Deep Roads. This could set you and your family up for life. Never having to worry about money again sounds pretty good?" Varric leaned towards her slightly as he spoke.

Hawke mulled it over a moment, "It sounds wonderful. But I don't see where the hell I'm going to get my hands on fifty sovereigns."

"This city is crawling with work if you know where to look. Folks like yourselves shouldn't have any problem making the money if you're pointed in the right direction. I'm even willing to help you do it. Neither one of us will make any profits if the expedition never gets under way. What do you say?"

A nagging question that had been buzzing around in the back of Hawke's mind finally forced its way to the front. "Wait, how do you even know who we are?"

Varric smirked mysteriously. "You've made quite the name for yourself over the past year or so, Hawke. You just have to be listening to the right stories. You're both more than capable, and I assure you so am I. Let's help each other on this one."

Hawke turned her eyes to Bethany in question. Bethany stared at Varric a moment before shrugging. In Bethany-code, that meant Hawke could do as she saw fit.

Hawke nodded and turned back to the dwarf, sticking out her hand. "Very well Varric, you have yourself a deal." He reached up and took it. Hawke was somehow not surprised to feel calluses and stone hard dwarf flesh under the leather of his glove.

"Perfect. How about a drink in the Hanged Man, my treat? I've a bit of information to fill you in on before we get started." Varric eased into an easy step to her right, and the trio wound their way out of Hightown.

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><p>Hawke strode into the Lowtown bar cautiously. She had been there a few times. Yet, knowing what she knew about the majority of its occupants, more often than not she gave it a wide distance. Varric led them up a back staircase to the inn's rooms.<p>

It was obvious that this was where the dwarf spent most (if not all) of his time. A monstrous table centered the room with several chairs. The much too large bed just in the next room made Hawke wonder for a moment what exactly the dwarf used it for. She decided she'd rather not know. Varric sat at the head of the table, gesturing for the two women to sit.

"Here's the thing. Even if you had the coin to buy into a partnership now, there is one major hurdle we have to get over. We need a suitable entrance to the Deep Roads. Once we get down there, Bartrand can get us where we're going, but passable entrances are difficult to come by. Not to mention the recent blight will have most of the darkspawn closer to the surface than usual." Varric steepled his fingers and slid his elbows to rest on the table.

"We need a way in. Rumor has it there's a Grey Warden in the city. If we can find him, and talk to him, we can at least get the wheels turning. Bartrand's pulling his hair out over this. If we don't step in and fix it for him, it's a very real possibility none of us will be going anywhere."

Hawke mulled his words over for a moment, a shadow over her face. "I don't think anyone wants to go poking around Grey Wardens, Varric."

He snorted, "We're not going to ask him to do anything but get **us** in there, just to give us a direction, something, anything to work with."

Hawke sighed heavily. She wanted nothing to do with the stoic Wardens. The few she had met gave her the creeps. They were serious to a fault and terribly fatalistic. Even asking one how to get into the Deep Roads would likely bring on a lecture about how it was idiotic for civilians to even look underground. Hawke hated being lectured. "Alright, if we have to, we have to."

"Good. Fereldan woman by the name of Lirene runs a shop in Lowtown. My information says she can help point us in the right direction."

Hawke stood slowly, her broadsword brushing the back of the chair. "Then I suppose we don't have any time to waste."

Varric's only answer was a roguish grin.

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><p>Varric, Bethany, and Hawke set out from the Hanged Man. They wound their way around Lowtown, in search of Lirene's shop. Her tiny store was tucked away in a small dirty corner of the district. Hawke had been here before. It had been many months ago, just after her family had been allowed into the city. After a few visits, however, Hawke realized that she was much better off than the vast majority of the Fereldan refugees in Kirkwall. Those who came to Lirene for aid more often than not didn't even have a dingy roof with holes in it to fall asleep under at night. As depressing as her own family's situation was, Hawke's few visits to the shop made her grateful for what she had.<p>

The shop was crowded today. Dirty bodies and whimpering children tucked themselves in the corners. Lirene barked instructions to her assistant even as she prioritized the visitors by importance of need. Hawke approached her slowly, not wanting to draw her ire early interrupting.

Hawke knew the shop keep in passing. A Fereldan by birth, Lirene was a woman hardened by circumstance. She lived the plight of the Fereldan refugee, even as she devoted all of her time and resources to the betterment of her destitute countrymen. She was hard, but fair, and not unkind. However, Hawke knew that if for some reason this Fereldan Warden was one of her charges, or even in her employ, she would be loath to give him up. If he wanted to stay hidden, Lirene would not betray that trust.

When Hawke reached the desk, Lirene gave her a cursory glance. "Back of the line's near the door. Priority's given to those who don't have food or lodging. I'll get to you when I can."

"Pardon me, serah," Hawke understood respect and patience would net results much faster than demands, "I only need a moment. I'm looking for someone. I've heard that you're the woman to speak with in regards to finding a Fereldan Grey Warden in Kirkwall."

Lirene's eyes cut darkly to Hawke's face as she bustled behind her counter. "Only Fereldan Grey Warden I know of is currently plopped on the throne. Besides, blight's over. What need could anyone have for a Warden?"

"The healer was one of them once, wasn't he? A Warden?" One of Lirene's young assistant's piped up from her side. The small girl couldn't have been older than fifteen, bright eyed and buoyant, anxious to please.

Lirene sighed and bit off a curse, throwing a dirty look that backed her assistant up a few steps. "Well he's not anymore, and busy enough without answering fool questions about it."

Hawke's brow furrowed slightly. "The Grey Warden is a healer?"

"He aids the refugees here without any thought for coin. He closes wounds, delivers children, and eradicates ailments. I'll not see his charity ended by losing him to the bloody Templars." Lirene drew herself up around her indignance. It was not a threatening stance, but it certainly was a resolute one.

"The healer is a mage?" Bethany asked gently from behind Hawke. "Please, mistress, know that we would not harm anyone for an accident of birth."

Lirene sighed and deflated slightly. "I suppose it's not really my secret to keep. He's certainly been free enough with his services. You'll find him in Darktown. The refugees know to look for the lit lantern. If you have a need, Anders will be there."

Hawke nodded. "Thank you. You've been a great help. I'll leave you to your duties." The three turned to go. On their way towards the door, Hawke spied the pitifully empty donation box in the corner. She didn't imagine many who had the means to donate anything would frequent this place. Hawke pulled a few silver pieces out of her coin purse and slid them through the slot, saying a prayer of thanks to the Maker that her meals never needed to be purchased with donations.

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><p>No two ways about it, Darktown reeked. It was very nearly literally the sewers of Kirkwall. The smell of shit and decay permeated everything. Yet it was packed to the gills with equally filthy people. Children darted to and fro, playing games, or attempting to catch the monstrous rats that dwelled there. Surly adults leered at Hawke's tiny group as they passed. It was not every day Hawke was on the receiving end of covetous stares. It made her uncomfortable.<p>

The sewers seemed endless. Up and down several flights of derelict stairs they trudged. There was no sign of a lantern or a mage, or of anything, really, save destitute Fereldans. Hawke glanced down at her boots. The filth seemed to be slowly creeping its way up her sabatons. _Perfect. Now I get to carry the smell with me back topside. Absolutely wonderful_. Hawke's thoughts were taking a decidedly less than adventurous turn as she considered how the hell she was going to get the stench off her armor.

Varric seemed to be having much the same thoughts. "This is getting us nowhere," he groused. "Let's just ask someone." He broke away to approach a young man who was lounging in the grime. After a very quick exchange, the boy pointed them in what was hopefully the right direction. Varric handed him a silver piece. He clutched at it hungrily and darted back off into the shadows.

"That was easy," Varric sauntered back to Hawke's side. "And cheap." Hawke rolled her eyes and headed off down the alley the boy had pointed Varric to. After only a few moments of walking, the three could spot a warm orange glow flickering at the end of the alley.

"Huh," Varric huffed at her side. "Little shit wasn't lying. I should've given him two silvers."

Hawke spared a quick smile for the dwarf as she approached the door. Hanging beside it was a merrily flickering lantern. She hesitated for a moment, unsure. Hawke wasn't quite sure what the protocol was for entering a healer's residence. By sheer fortune, Bethany had been born with a gift for healing. Hawke had never needed to seek outside aid when it came to her injuries. As she mulled over her options, voices were discernable just beyond the flimsy wall. Judging by the number of them, it was safely assumed that the addition of another person would cause little stir. Gently pushing the door open, Hawke stepped into what seemed to be a tiny clinic.

The small space was not crowded. While a few people sat patiently in the corners, it was hardly packed the way Lirene's shop had been. It was quiet here. Everyone spoke in hushed tones as if they were sitting in a Chantry, rather than a rundown Darktown healer's outpost.

Hawke's eyes were drawn to the center of the room. A young boy was stretched across a crude table. His eyes were closed and his breathing seemed slow and labored. What could only be the boy's father hovered just to the side, worry written in every line of his face. But it was the man standing over the boy that most drew her attention.

He was leaned gently over the child, eyes closed, hands outstretched. His hands glowed with a cool blue light. It seemed as if he were holding pools of luminescent water that flowed slowly over his fingertips to rest on the boy. The azure light lit the sickly boy's face with a soft glow. The healer's brow creased for a moment as he seemed to struggle to lift his hands. They were trembling slightly, as if he were trying to life a terrible weight. The child's eyes snapped open and he sucked in a deep gasping breath, his chest beginning to rise off the table eerily. The magic that the healer had been struggling against seemed to implode back into his fingertips, and he stumbled, hands finding support on the rickety wall. The boy's father rushed to the table. On seeing that his son was indeed awake, he turned to the healer. Muttered 'thank you's were all Hawke could make out as he helped the visibly exhausted man stand a bit straighter and handed him a staff.

This must be Anders.

Hawke approached slowly. The mage was obviously drained. She was still several steps away from him when a shudder seemed to run down the man's spine. He whirled around to face her. Anger flashed across his tired face. Hawke was a bit concerned with the fact that an intimidating looking staff was clutched in one hand, and his other hand was stretched out towards her face.

"I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation. Why do you threaten it?" He crouched like a cornered cat. A cornered cat with some very impressive claws.

Hawke raised her empty hands towards him, palms out. "I'm simply here to talk. I promise I won't disrupt anything you do here. My companions and I are planning an expedition to the Deep Roads and we're searching for suitable entrances. Rumor has it you were a Warden. We've come seeking your help."

Anders' staff swung down level with the floor as he straightened. "I will be a happy man if I never think about the blighted Deep Roads again." The accusation in his eyes still hadn't lifted. "It's one of the many reasons I left the Wardens in the first place. Not to mention those bastards made me give away my cat."

Hawke threw a questioning glance at Varric. The dwarf had said nothing of the possibility this mage was just a little off balance.

"Although..."

Hawke drew her eyes back to Anders. He was standing straight now, a thoughtful look on his face. He eyed her appraisingly. "A favor for a favor? I have a Warden map of the depths in this area. I will give them to you. But first I need your aid with something."

A sigh escaped Hawke's lips and she nodded, simply glad there was a way to accomplish her goal and get the hell out of Lowtown. "Anything you need."

Ander's brow rose just slightly as he stared at her. Hawke immediately regretted the words she had spoken. "Anything? You do not ask my terms. What if I were to ask you for the Knight Commander's head on a spike?"

Her stomach fell to her feet like a rock. Clearly, Anders was more than a little off balance. "... Is that what you ask?" Hawke had a very difficult time keeping the look of sheer incredulity off her face.

For the first time in this entire exchange, a smile threatened at the corners of Anders' mouth. "You decide."

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><p><em>How do I always find a way to get myself into these messes?<em>

Hawke had listened very attentively when Anders explained what exactly it was he needed to do. Breaking a mage out of the circle of Magi wasn't exactly what Hawke would have elected to do had she been given a choice. Still, she couldn't pretend she wasn't sympathetic. If something happened and Bethany were shipped to the Circle, who's to say Hawke wouldn't be recruiting help to break her out as well? It wasn't a difficult decision to make when the terms were laid out. However, as Hawke crept through the candlelight and shadows of the apparently deserted Chantry, the apprehension wouldn't leave her alone. This had disaster written all over it.

Varric and Bethany stuck close to her side. It was obvious they were almost as nervous as she was. Sparing a glance for Anders, Hawke realized determination wiped out whatever fear would have been in him. For a moment she was jealous. Her eyes swept the Chantry again as they stalked the shadows.

Anders veered towards the right hand staircase, and the four crept gingerly to the top. A man in flowing robes waited not far from them, faced away from the landing. Anders approached him slowly. Hawke followed at a respectful distance. She imagined they would appreciate any private conversation staying that way, but moving completely out of earshot would be idiotic.

"Anders I know you to well. I knew you would come." The mage they had come to rescue spoke slowly, emotionlessly. He hadn't even turned. Hawke's hands itched for her sword. Something wasn't right.

"Karl, what's wrong?" Anders' voice was almost pleading. "Why are you talking that way...?" Hawke knew before Karl had even fully turned around. She suspected Anders did as well.

_Son of a bitch, can nothing EVER go right?_ Hawke's mind reeled as the man faced them. The Chantry's brand was still fresh and red on his forehead. His eyes were blank, as though he hardly saw them.

"No!" The anguish that seeped through Anders voice made Hawke wince sympathetically.

"I was like you, Anders, too rebellious. The Templars knew I had to be made an example of. You will understand too, once the Templars teach you to control yourself." The tranquil's glassy eyes slid up over their shoulders. "This is the apostate."

Hawke's hand flew to her back and her broadsword slid free of its sheath with a whispered hiss. She turned and saw the Templars closing in. _I guess that's a no. Bloody fucking beautiful_. How so many men, heavily armed in plate no less, had managed to sneak up on four people who were already twitchy was beyond Hawke. Now she was going to have to defend herself, and probably kill most of these men, in the Chantry of all places. _Bloody fucking beautiful indeed._

"No!" Anders' cried out again. The anguish was still there, but this time it seemed almost literally underlined with rage. In fact it seemed as if the rage in his voice had its own voice, its own timbre.

Knowing it was stupid beyond reason, Hawke pulled her eyes away from the men advancing on her. She had intended only a glance over her shoulder to make sure that Anders was well. Yet her eyes rested on the mage as he crumpled to the floor, head in his hands. _Maker, you can't do this to me now, mage!_ She turned and took a step back towards him, intending to drag him back to his feet. She didn't get very far.

Hawke felt the rumble more than she heard it. As she watched, Anders began trembling on the floor. Sharp tendrils of brilliant blue light burst into existence just under his skin. It looked as though he was threatening to rip apart. It wasn't an unfair assumption to make. No sooner had the sight stopped Hawke in her tracks, than a concussion ripped through the air. An explosion of light and azure fire seemed to tear through the mage, cool flames licking hungrily at his sides. Before she could even form a prayer to the Maker, Anders was on his feet. The flames seemed to recede into the mage as he stood, rage written across every feature, every minute movement. But it was his eyes that knocked the wind out of Hawke.

As he rose, they flashed momentarily to her face and knocked every ounce of sense she had away from her. The unassuming mild brown irises were gone, obliterated in a fierce blue glow that swirled in his eyes, giving movement to his fury. The pure expressiveness of the flashing blue, the unbridled power of righteous anger bored into her. Hawke felt as though her bones were aflame. Her stomach roiled and her muscles twitched under their sharp scrutiny. Anders could have struck her down in that moment and she wouldn't have had the will or the sense to move.

As quickly as it had begun, his eyes released her, staring behind her shoulders. _Yes, right, Templars with big ugly swords._ She shook her head to clear it and tore her eyes away from Anders to face them. A deep, booming voice washed over them, shaking them all.

_**"You will never take another mage as you took him!"**_

The blue glow behind her intensified to an almost blinding brightness. As Hawke shifted her long sword in her grip, she prayed to the Maker that Anders was still in enough control of himself to not obliterate everyone in the room with his fury.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: Just a quick thank you to those of you who have reviewed or alerted this story. I really appreciate it. Also, as of right now, this story has no beta reader, and I think my husband is getting sick of me forcing him to read it. If anyone is interested in beta reading, just drop me a line. Anyway, if you find some glaring errors, please let me know.**

**Disclaimer: I have zero rights to any of this, unfortunately. **

The bodies littered the lush carpeting around her. _Blood of the Maker you have got to be KIDDING me..._Templars lay bleeding on the floor, heaving their dying breaths at her feet. Hawke said a brief prayer to Andraste, asking for intercedence regarding this blatant sacrilege. She didn't have much time though, before Karl broke through her musings.

"Anders... what did you do? It's like... it's like you brought a piece of the Fade into this world." Hawke turned to see the tranquil mage gaping at Anders in a very un-tranquil-like manner. Even Bethany was staring at their new mage companion with something akin to awe. Anders looked like he wanted to do nothing more than crawl under a rock and hide.

"Yes, well, I have some... unique circumstances." He shook himself back to the present, "But Karl, what happened? How did they get to you?"

Karl began explaining the events that led to his being made tranquil, but Hawke could not force herself to listen. Her mind was her greatest ally, but it had the annoying habit of doing whatever it wanted to do. At that moment, it was feverishly babbling about the ridiculous situation it found itself in.

_They knew Anders was coming. How did they know he was coming? Did they know he was bringing friends? It'll be obvious now that he did. Maker, maybe I shouldn't have been quite so... vigorous. There's blood everywhere... But no one else is in the Chantry. How confident were they? Did they have enough faith in their ability to bring in one rogue apostate that maybe, just maybe, they didn't tell anyone else what they were doing tonight, or who they were hunting? Hm, that could work. "My apologies, Grand Cleric, just a routine rodent extermination, everyone needs to be out until morning. No, no, Your Grace, I promise, no lasting harm will come to the Chantry or the relics within. Please disregard any blood stains on the carpet." Maker's breath if we could only be so lucky. Dammit, focus Marian!_

Karl was still speaking with Anders. His voice was getting more urgent now. _Wait, did he just ask for what I think he just asked for?_ A quick look at Bethany proved Hawke had not heard incorrectly. Karl was asking for death, immediate death, by the sound of it. Bethany looked horrified, but not surprised. She seemed... sympathetic.

Bethany's voice was soft and almost timid. "I would rather die than be made tranquil."

"Do it! Now!" Karl looked like a man at the end of his sanity. The pleading in his voice and his eyes was heartbreaking, "It's fading!" The hysteria melted away from his face, replaced by a calm, blank stare. "Why do you look at me like that?"

"Karl... I'm so sorry..." Anders slowly slid a small dagger out of his belt. Hawke watched, mortified, unable to pull her eyes away. She couldn't imagine witnessing a more private moment. Hawke heard the unmistakably wet sound of flesh parting and winced as Karl's body slumped to the floor. Anders fled down the Chantry steps and out the door. Hawke, Bethany, and Varric were hot on his heels.

* * *

><p>Blood was still dripping off Hawke's blade as they stumbled back into Anders' tiny clinic. The lantern that had been dancing so merrily earlier that day was as dark and ominous as the alleys of Darktown. Bethany fluttered about her like a hen, and even Varric seemed to be struck speechless. Anders trudged into the darkened room, head bowed. He set to lighting small candles in the clinic. Their light cast an eerie glow on the beleaguered troop.<p>

The warming light of Bethany's healing magic faded from Hawke, pulling pain and soreness with it. She took a deep breath and gave her a sister a tired, appreciative smile. Bethany stared up at her adoringly for a moment before rushing over to Varric.

Hawke's eyes found Anders. His shoulders were bent as he sat on the cot that he called a bed, head resting in his hands. He was the picture of sorrow and regret. But Hawke was low on pity. "You," she barked with more authority than she felt. "Start talking. What in the name of Andraste did you do?"

Anders heaved a heavy sigh. Hawke imagined this wasn't the first time he'd been asked that question, and that it was likely one that he would prefer to avoid. "It's a bit of a long story."

"Well it's going to take me a long time to get the blood off my sword." Her words came out a bit harsher than she had intended, and Bethany gave her a disapproving stare. Hawke bit her lip, considering her next words. "That was no ordinary magic you just did back there, was it?" Marian tried to force as much of the bitterness out of her voice as she could.

"No, it wasn't." Anders' face was grim as he stood to hand her an old but relatively clean cloth that she immediately began running down her soaked blade. Her eyes never left his face as he sat again on his bed and explained everything from the beginning.

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><p>Marian Hawke was drunk. Or at least as drunk as she could manage while drinking the swill they served at the Hanged Man. The only plan her brain had managed to suggest was to get loudly and thoroughly drunk at the bar. If any Templars or city guard came asking for her, she'd have something that remotely resembled an alibi. Varric was very supportive of this plan. Bethany had never approved of Hawke's fondness for drinking, so had remained at home, but not before Hawke had extracted every promise imaginable out of the girl that she would mention nothing to Aveline.<p>

"Maker's breath, Hawke, a mage, an ex Grey Warden, an apostate, and an abomination, all wrapped up in one package? Is this the sort of trouble you get into on a regular basis? I have to tell you, I'm astounded your sister still seems as idealistic as she does." Varric leaned heavily back in his chair, shoulders slouched against the stone. He was nowhere near drunk, apparently that was just something that Varric did when he drank.

"This is a little far-fetched, even for me, Varric." Hawke's tankard hit the table with a heavy thud. Her eyebrows came together, furrowing her brow thoughtfully. "I mean… does it still count as an abomination when the fade spirit is a virtuous one?" Her words were measured, fighting against a slur.

Varric shrugged and leaned back in his chair, "By pure definition? Probably. Though I'll admit Blondie doesn't seem quite in the spirit of the rule."

Hawke didn't mean to laugh. She also didn't mean to force her ale out her nose. Cursing, she clutched at the bridge of her nose as the inevitable stinging burned her between the eyes, "Blondie, Varric?"

The dwarf smirked, amused at the long string of muttered curses issuing from her mouth. "I can't be creative all the time. Besides, I'd be a bit afraid of him glowing me to death if I came up with anything more amusing. Blondie it is, and Blondie it stays."

Hawke laughed and nodded. "You have a point, dwarf. Though you have to admit, that glowing thing was bloody impressive."

"Impressive is one way of putting it. Terrifying is another. I don't know about you, Hawke, but I don't think I'd ever want to be on the receiving end of one of those fits." Varric shuddered slightly.

"Maker's breath no. I made the mistake of catching his eye. It was…" Hawke shook her head thoughtfully at the memory. "It was a bit like your flesh was being stripped down into tiny bits to get to the meat of you, inside. It felt like he was trying to flay me alive to get at my thoughts. It was…" Hawke's glassy eyes stared off into space for a moment. "It was like being judged. I'll tell you, Varric, I don't know how I screwed my head on straight enough to fight anything after that. Hiding in a corner, curling up in a ball… those seemed like more appealing options. I almost felt sorry for those Templars." She swigged her ale before shooting Varric a wry glance, "Almost."

Varric chuckled at her, understanding. "Most Templars are prigs anyhow. I won't lose much sleep over them. Though I may lose sleep over the thought of traveling with Blondie." Varric's eyes were penetrating as he regarded her.

Hawke sighed. "I knew you were going to get around to that. Abomination or no, he has the potential to be absurdly useful. We're not exactly in a position to turn down help when it's offered. By the Maker, Varric, Bethany's been healing me her entire life, but I've never seen any of her spells take as fast as his. A man with that talent for healing… battlefield healing even… we can't pass something like that up. We're all very well aware that whatever jobs we take to get our hands on those fifty sovereigns aren't going to be petty delivery work. Not to mention any kind of Grey Warden companion, ex or no, in the Deep Roads could be invaluable." Hawke tapped her fingers uncomfortably on the table, chewing on her next words. "And I'll admit the thought of leaving Bethany with mother during some of the more dangerous jobs has a lot of appeal."

A knowing grin spread across Varric's face. "And there's the heart of it. Another mage tagging behind you, whether or not he's a vessel for a particularly spiteful occupant of the fade, means you can leave your sister behind when it gets down and dirty."

Hawke shrugged noncommittally. "Can you blame me? Bethany's very talented, and dead useful. But she's still so young. She's also an apostate. I don't particularly like the idea of her prowling around Kirkwall with me, flashing her magic at anyone who'd care to look. Anders seems like he's perfectly capable of taking care of himself, and keeping himself hidden, when it comes down to it." She inspected a blank spot on the wall absentmindedly, rotating the wrist of her right hand stiffly. A small rhythmic pop was barely discernable with every rotation of her hand.

Norah ascended the stairs quietly, setting the next round on the table with a thud and walking out without a word. Varric's annoyed expression followed her down the stairs, "Not to mention if things get really bad, Blondie can explode into blue flame while we all run away."

Hawke smiled into her ale. "Don't think the thought hadn't crossed my mind."

The two sat in an easy silence for a while, eavesdropping on the drunken conversations from the floor below. The sound of a fight beginning to break out downstairs stopped most of the chatter, but was just as amusing to listen to.

Soft footsteps shuffling up the stairs drew their attention. Norah wasn't due back up for at least another hour, if she held true to her current pattern of abysmal service. Hawke threw a questioning glance at Varric, who shrugged and grinned. Never had the dwarf looked more suspicious. She rolled her eyes and brought both her hands down to clutch her mug, determined to ignore whomever Varric had invited to join them. She had no interest in getting on a first name basis with any of Varric's contacts. Hawke could not manage to hide her surprise when the voice that broke in on their companionable silence was one she recognized.

"I wouldn't go down there if I were you. That fight's getting pretty nasty. I'm sure someone will run up here any moment asking me to stop the bleeding." Anders slid into the chair across from Hawke, tankard in hand. "Thanks for the drink, Varric."

"Well, you looked like you could use it, Blondie." Varric's eyes slid over to Hawke's surprised face before winking at her.

Anders looked like hell. Hawke couldn't help but wonder when he had last gotten a full night's sleep. The events of the evening were written on his face. His eyes were downcast, and his fingers tapped with lackluster agitation on the rim of his ale. She took the opportunity to study him. It was easier to see the obvious weight Anders carried when he wasn't glowing, healing, or scaring the shit out of armed Templars.

He had obviously attempted to get most of the blood and gore out of his hair, but the dust of Darktown clung to it like a film. The few strands that had managed to escape his hair restraint stuck lifelessly to his forehead and neck. His cheeks were covered in a sharp shadow and had obviously not been shaved in several days. Anders' brow was furrowed. What seemed like a permanent crease dipped between his brows as he stared in the depths of his ale. His hands seemed clean and well washed, but Hawke couldn't help but notice the flakes of dried blood still crusted under his brutally short fingernails. His robes must have once been handsome, but now looked worn, if well cared for. The feathers that covered the shoulders of his robe sat limp over the fabric, waiting for a breeze to stir them. He had left the collar's hook unchained. It lay open around his neck, settled on prominent collarbones. The tunic beneath was threadbare and well worn.

_Maker's breath he looks exhausted._ Hawke felt a stir of pity for the poor man. She knew what Bethany's life had been like, running from the Templars. But at least Bethany had family that loved her and cared about her. This man looked as though he had no one. _Well… no one but the friend he carries inside his head. Though to be fair, Justice didn't look as if he's entirely pleasant company._ The low hum of voices had picked up again. Varric and Anders were having some sort of conversation, but she was lost in her assessment of her newest ally.

Hawke jumped as a very hard boot collided with her shin. "Shit, Varric, WHAT?" She shot the dwarf a poisonous glare, rubbing her bruised leg.

Varric cleared his throat with a grin. "Blondie asked you a question. I thought you might like to answer, rather than simply stare at the man until he leaves."

Hawke gaped for a moment like a fish out of water. Anders was no longer gazing into the contents of his tankard. His eyes were surveying her curiously. She caught them for a moment. The tiny voice in her brain that did not have the inclination to be mortified thought they were very nice eyes. _Calm, peaceful, warm… He has healer's eyes. _Unfortunately, the rest of her mind was perfectly capable of feeling acute embarrassment. A flush crept up her cheeks as she muttered a pitiful apology.

A smirk teased the corners of Anders' lips. Hawke wanted to put her head into the table, repeatedly. _Yes… this is precisely what I needed today._

"I was just going to ask you if you wanted me to take a look at that." Anders gestured towards Hawke's tankard. Looking down, she was surprised to notice that the hand clutching the handle was an unhealthy shade of purple. Hawke released her ale to inspect it. Apparently it was an injury Bethany had missed. The bruising started at her knuckles and ran under the bones of her hands before disappearing just above the wrist.

"Huh…" Hawke flexed her fingers. "She usually doesn't miss these. Though I don't remember it smarting quite this much." A brief memory flashed through Hawke's mind of their recent run in with the Chantry's watchdogs. The Templar had been brutally strong. She had a great deal of trouble even landing a hit on the man without his blasted shield getting in the way. One wrong downswing on her part had brought four of her knuckles into a much better acquaintance with the heavy plate of steel. Odd that she only now remembered that. "That bastard's shield was pretty hard. I should've guessed."

Anders leaned across the table, his hand outstretched. "May I?"

Hawke eyed him a moment, "Are you sure? No offence, but you look like hell. I don't think I'd feel right about draining you further." This was true, but she was also a bit nervous about him using magic around her at all, lest the bar go down in blue flame. Or the Templars her father had once told her hid in cupboards and underneath beds could jump out an arrest her. She grimaced at her own reasoning. _Well... it could happen I suppose._

Anders laughed softly at her a moment. "This won't take anything out of me. I can heal bruising in my sleep. Fevers are the real pain."

Hawke paused a moment before gingerly setting her hand in his. Anders brought his other hand down to rest just above it. His eyebrows drew together as he focused on her injury.

His hands were larger than they seemed, swallowing her tiny fingers. Hawke's mind whirred with this new information. His hands were worn and rough, calluses dotting his skin from his staff. But they had a soft give to them that set them apart from the stone-like feel of Varric's. Varric's hands also didn't glow. Hawke's eyes swept the room out of habit. _Well it's a bit too late to object now..._ The instant the soft blue light touched her skin, the terrible ache she didn't know she had been feeling bled away from her. A sigh of relief was all she could think to utter.

As soon as the unearthly glow was gone, Hawke brought her hand up to her face for inspection. It was perfect. No bruising, no internal bleeding. _Not even… wait…._

"Did you… only fix the bruising?" Hawke shot Anders a suspicious look. He chuckled at her, a guilty smile on his face. "There was some older damage. You possibly broke or seriously strained your wrist some time ago. It was healed well but there was some residual scarring. You should be able to move a little more freely."

Hawke's eyes never left his face as she rotated her hand. She couldn't fault the mage. He was right. Her wrist moved smoothly through its motions, silently, without even a hint of stiffness. She pulled her eyes to her hand to inspect it thoughtfully.

"Carver broke it. I was nine. He was so determined to become a swordsman. It was apparently my duty to help him practice. We were sparring in the yard, and he brought his wooden training sword down too low. The crack was deafening." She chuckled sadly, "Papa could've flayed him for it. He healed me well enough, though I suppose he was still a bit distracted from yelling at Carver. The bruising went down, but it's never moved quite the same since."

"Carver is your brother, I take it?" Anders pulled his hands back to himself, regarding Hawke with open curiosity.

Hawke couldn't help the bittersweet smile that crept to her face as she set her hand down flat on the table. "Was." The mage's face fell slightly, but he did not seem surprised. After all, very few Fereldan's came to Kirkwall without their own tale of tragedy or loss. "I'm so sorry."

Hawke shrugged and forced a smile as she looked across the table. "I appreciate it. But it was hardly your fault. I imagine at that point in time you were worrying about darkspawn of your own. Regardless, thank you," Hawke held her hand back up, eyeing the mage with a glassy stare, "for the wrist." She barked a short, humorless laugh, "You healed a memory, sir."

Anders eyes grew round and for once he fell speechless. Varric stood quickly, muttering something about chasing Norah down for another round. He was already halfway down the stairs before Anders found his voice. "I'm sorry, Hawke. I should've... asked, or ... It was a bit of a liberty." His eyes roamed around the room, searching as he fumbled for words. "I could always break it again, if you like?"

The laughter burst across the room, loud and raucous. Hawke had to bring a hand to her face to wipe the tears from her eyes. When she finally quieted down, her eyes rested on a thoroughly dumbstruck mage. _Sweet Andraste, he thinks I've lost my mind._

"I appreciate the offer, Anders, but that won't be necessary. I have a feeling if you were to try to break my wrist, you may take my hand clean off. I need that, you know." The smirk on her face told him there were no harmed feelings between them.

Anders allowed himself a timid smile. "I imagine you would. It could get a bit difficult being a swordswoman with only one hand."

"Mmm," Hawke nodded, agreeing through a mouthful of ale. "I suppose I could always go one handed and strap a shield to my arm... but... nah." She grinned easily at the man as Varric mounted the steps with another round for the three of them.

"You're very good, by the way," Anders said, nodding his thanks to Varric as the fresh tankard was set before him. "I have to admit I was concerned. No offense, Hawke, but you're a bit... small. Your weapon is very decidedly not. It doesn't seem to hinder you though."

"Actually, it doesn't - thanks Varric - to be completely honest, it helps. It's a balance issue. Though I'm sure it would bore the both of you to death if I kept on, so I won't." Hawke swept the empty tankards up and set them to the unoccupied end of the table. "Just know that the bigger the sword, the deadlier I am with it."

"Is that so?" Varric drawled at her side. "Well then Hawke, you simply must -"

"Shut it Varric. And I swear by Andraste herself if you ever quote me having said that in one of your stories, I'll take your 'sword' clean off." Hawke wagged a finger in the lecherous dwarf's face with a stare that would melt ice.

Ander's warm laughter broke out over the room, followed quickly by Varric's. "Fair enough, Hawke. But no more talk of swords then. If you bait me, then expect it."

"We could always change the subject to my staff if you'd like," Anders quipped. The disbelieving silence that followed that statement lasted only a heartbeat before all three companions burst into drunken laughter around the table.

With the aid of ale, and Varric's many sordid stories, they drank away much of the night in each other's company, forgetting for a while the many hardships that awaited them just outside the tavern door. For an evening, they were simply three people drinking in a bar. Hawke decided she liked her two new acquaintances this way.

She also decided that Anders didn't look quite so weighed down when he smiled, nor quite so tired when he laughed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Just wanted to say another thanks for the alerts and reviews, and a special thank you to mille libri for being a wonderful beta, helping to make sure the drabble I yank out of my head makes sense.**

**I own none of these folks.**

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><p>Marian pushed open the door of the Lowtown hovel she called home. She made every effort to be as quiet as possible, but little could be done about the creaking hinges. Darkness enveloped the interior, and the dying embers in the hearth were only strong enough to silhouette the sleeping form of the massive Mabari in front of them.<p>

She hadn't meant to be out quite so late. Unfortunately, the combination of Varric's tales and a running bar tab were a bit counterproductive to those aims. The house was dead asleep, and she was trying clumsily to get to bed before anyone woke up long enough to chastise her.

Hawke managed to fumble her way through the darkness to her room with only one stubbed toe. The floor heaved beneath her unsteady feet as she fell onto the lower bunk. A soft sigh above her froze Hawke for a moment. The last thing she wanted was to wake her sister. Fortunately, Bethany only tossed a moment before breathing peacefully again.

Folding her arms behind her head, Hawke watched the underside of Bethany's bunk. She gave up trying to focus on the swaying planks of wood, instead letting her eyes drop closed and listening to the calming rhythm of Bethany's measured breaths.

It had been quite possibly one of the most eventful days of her life in Kirkwall. _Considering everything that's happened since we landed here, that's quite an achievement._

This morning, her goal had been to beg, charm, or bully her way onto Bartrand's Deep Roads expedition. That one abysmal failure opened a window of opportunity that not even Gamlen could have predicted. _So I'll have to do a little foot work to get on the expedition. I'm hardly a stranger to a hard day's work. But now... now it's on my terms. I take the jobs I can get, and maybe someday I'll be able to take jobs I want to take. Or make someone else do the jobs entirely..._ Hawke grinned to herself. _A girl can always dream._

More importantly, Hawke had discovered unexpected aid. No longer would it have to be Bethany alone at her side. The sheer amount of distraction that could be completely negated in Hawke's troubled mind, just by not having to constantly glance around to ensure Bethany was still alright, was almost too much for her to imagine. It wasn't that Hawke didn't enjoy her sister's company. In point of fact, Bethany's soothing, calming influence was something Hawke relied on when situations got delicate. What she did not cherish was the many bruises she had incurred due to her inability to pay attention to people brandishing weapons at her whenever Bethany was in trouble.

Her sister shifted on the bed above her, turning and muttering incoherently in her sleep. Hawke smiled softly. As long as she swore to herself to let Bethany come along on whatever easy jobs came her way, it completely justified her sister's disappointment at being left behind on the decidedly violent ones.

_It would, wouldn't it?_

Pleasant thoughts of wealth beyond her wildest dreams flickered through Hawke's mind. Her mother was well situated back in Hightown, where she would be content at long last. Bethany wandered a market alone without fear, knowing the Templars could not touch her. Even Gamlen would come by to visit on occasion, when he wasn't gambling, proud that the Amell line had not ended with his embarrassing disgrace.

Hawke didn't quite manage an idyllic daydream for herself before the darkness washed over her.

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><p>The sun shone brutally through the slats in the wall, falling across the room and landing squarely on Hawke's face. The heat radiating from it was atrocious. She groaned and rolled away from the offending glare, trying in vain to cover her head with her hands.<p>

"Marian. You've been in bed all morning," Hawke could tell just by hearing her voice that Bethany's hands were planted firmly on her hips. "There are things we need to be doing other than getting riotously drunk."

Hawke mumbled at her sister sullenly. The only words discernible in her half-conscious tirade other than the expected curses were "not drunk" and "put out the light."

Bethany had the gall to laugh. "So sorry sister dear. _Not_ drunk. Hungover. That, if I judge rightly, is much, much worse than drunk."

Hawke's pillow sailed across the room, landing far wide of her sister.

"Yes dear, I understand. You hate me. That's fine. Now get up this instant or so help me..." Bethany's voice dropped to a threatening rumble.

"Alright, alright, I'm up!" Hawke pushed herself slowly into something that resembled a sitting position. She'd heard Bethany use that tone of voice before. Nothing good ever came from baiting her after you heard it.

Hawke pried her eyes open slowly, trying to make sense of the blur of room around her. Bethany was dressed and washed and bright eyed. _And of course her hands are on her hips. Lovely._ The sunlight was pouring across the room to land in shining puddles on the floor. Dust motes swam lazily in and out of the rays. The brightness seared Hawkes eyes.

Rubbing her face, she scooted to the edge of the bed, feet fumbling around on the floor. "Where the bloody hell are my boots?" She pulled her hands away from her eyes long enough to watch Bethany chuck them unceremoniously at her face.

It was a lucky thing Hawke had spent her entire life honing her reflexes. She wasn't quick enough to catch them, but she was quick enough to keep them from flattening her nose. Bethany's girlish laugher flooded the room as Hawke glowered at her sister.

"It serves you right for leaving them in the middle of the floor, for the Maker and everyone to step on them." Bethany smirked at her sister.

"You would have hated yourself had those hit me you know," Hawke dropped her boots to the floor, shoving her feet roughly into them.

"Not really. I learned well enough to heal broken noses," Bethany quipped as she picked up her staff from where she had left it propped up next to the door. "Not to hurry you along or anything, but we're supposed to have a busy day. You know that expedition we're supposed to fund? Finding work? You can't do that in bed."

Hawke stood stiffly, rubbing her neck. She had slept on it in just awkward enough a manner to make sure that her shoulders screamed at her every time she tried to move. _Perfect._ "Maker, yes I remember, you harpy. Give me a moment."

Bethany's eyes turned sullen again, "I did give you a moment, Marian. I gave you several moments. You missed breakfast, such as it was, and it is drawing dangerously close to midday. If we stay here any longer, we won't get anything done. We're supposed to meet with Meeran's contact today, or don't you remember?"

The mention of her former employer stirred something in Hawke's mind. She furrowed her brow, trying to cling to the threads of recognition unsuccessfully. "Maybe?"

Bethany rolled her eyes and grabbed Hawke's monstrous broadsword off its peg, handing it to the dazed warrior. "He sent the letter yesterday... He said there was someone who was looking for a little extra help with something..." Bethany stared at her sister, as if waiting for her to pick up the pieces and finish the thought for her. "...He recommended us and we're supposed to meet with him tonight...?"

"Tonight?" Hawke groused, "If we're not meeting him until tonight, why am I awake?"

"Maker's BREATH, woman, you are useless like this. There are a few things to do first, before you start swinging that ugly sword around," Bethany grabbed her sister's hand and began dragging her out of the room. "Apparently the first is to go see Anders. You look like hell, and it's against my philosophy to heal drunkards."

Bethany dragged Hawke to the door and unlatched it, saying a farewell to their mother. Hawke hardly heard the exchange, "You can certainly heal this, you're just being underhanded. You don't want me to feel better. You just want me out in that blasted sun."

"Honestly darling, I couldn't care less how much you want to stay in right now. Though I'll admit, that grimace on your face is priceless. Now, be a good girl and ask the nice healer to make you all better, and maybe he'll come with us tonight." Bethany shoved her sister bodily out the door and into the inferno that was the street outside their door.

Hawke threw a hand over her eyes and groaned, blinded by the fierce sunlight. "I hate you so much Bethany."

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><p>Bethany had practically dragged Hawke all the way from their doorstep to Darktown. Blessedly, according to Hawke, Darktown was just that: dark. The sun couldn't reach the dingy corners of the rat infested underbelly of Kirkwall. Hawke was so thankful for the reprieve that she almost didn't mind the awful smell.<p>

They reached Anders' clinic after only a few moments of walking. Hawke at least had the graciousness of mind to realize that Bethany was the only reason she hadn't gotten lost, or mugged... _or kidnapped, or raped, or all of the above. Ha! I do look like I need to be dragged to the healer, don't I?_

The door to the mage's home was open wide, the small lantern flickering merrily on its frame. Hawke glowered at it as they passed. _It has no right to look so damn chipper. _The clinic was quiet, and the sisters realized that there was no one in it, not even the mage they were looking for.

"Anders?" Bethany called sweetly, letting her voice carry.

Hawke rolled her eyes as Bethany deposited her on a bench. _She could charm a bloody snake with that voice. And Maker, does she know it._ Hawke would have laughed at the thought if her head hadn't chosen that moment to begin a particularly painful drumbeat against the inside of her skull.

"Hm? Oh, good day, Bethany, what can I do for you?" Anders' voice carried from the back. He sounded awake, and fit, and in a much more pleasant mood than Hawke was currently in. She lifted her head out of her hands long enough to peer through narrowed eyes at him.

He was smiling. _That bastard..._ He was also as clean as he ever got. He looked as though the night before had never happened.

"Well, it seems my sister could use a little... em... assistance," Bethany turned, indicating the pathetic form that was Hawke, sitting like a wilting flower on the bench.

He laughed at her. It was warm, and it was sincere, and it was... loud. "You look a mess, Hawke." He approached her slowly.

"Shut it you," she barked ungracefully. "I was perfectly fine and happy until **someone** woke me up." She looked at him as he crouched down in front of her. He grinned slyly. And to make matters worse, he didn't even smell like ale, or a bar, or filth.

"You do realize it's midday, right?" His grin turned into a thoughtful smirk.

"Maker's breath, people YES. I am still perfectly capable of telling time! It is midday! I am also tired, and in a very great deal of discomfort. These are three very obvious things that I know." Hawke pinched the bridge of her nose after her tirade, petulance swirling in her gut like an unruly child.

This time they both laughed. _Fabulous. This isn't humiliating in the slightest._

"Well now I understand why you brought her, Bethany," Anders was still chuckling as he stood. "I actually do have something that will fix this." He walked to a trunk tucked in the corner of the room and began rifling through it. "It isn't exactly for public consumption so much as my own personal use. But I suppose you need it more than I do at the moment." He surfaced from the depths of the trunk with a small bottle filled to the stopper with a viscous purple liquid.

He walked up to Hawke and held it out for her, "It's going to taste like hell. Be prepared. I assure you it's worth it, however."

As Hawke reached limply for the vial, he held it a moment, studying her. "Maybe I should uncork it for you..."

She narrowed her eyes and snatched the potion out of his hands, "Bloody impertinent, chipper bastard..." She tipped the potion to her lips and almost gagged. He wasn't lying. It tasted like someone had scooped out a corner of Darktown and poured it into the vial.

Her eyes flew to Anders' face. He grinned down at her, arms crossed over his chest. "You'll need to take all of it."

Hawke stamped down the urge to slug the man, and instead drank every last bit of her vile medicine. After she managed to swallow it all, she plugged the cork back in the bottle and held it out for him.

Anders plucked it out of her fingers and grinned brightly. "There's a good girl!" His fingers twitched momentarily, and Hawke had the distinct impression he was fighting the urge to pat her on the head.

"Anders," she spat, "if you look one bit more like my mother, I swear to Andraste I'm going to make you wear an apron."

Anders' smile didn't fade, and he largely ignored her insult as he stored the empty vial for later cleaning.

No sooner had she more or less gotten the atrocious taste out of her mouth than the most pleasant cooling sensation seemed to radiate out from her chest. There seemed to be a calming energy to it. Muscles unwound themselves from around her bones, and her stomach seemed to settle. The rhythmic staccato in her head quieted slowly before disappearing all together, and the veil that seemed to cover her eyes floated away from her. She almost hated to do it, but Hawke couldn't help smiling.

Anders walked back over to her, a smug look sparkling in his brown eyes, "Better?"

"You do realize you could sell whatever that is and make a fortune, right?" Hawke stood up and stretched her arms above her head. Unfortunately, whatever Anders had put in that potion had not quite eradicated the deep ache in her neck. _Ah well... I suppose I couldn't get off completely free._

"Before or after the Templars arrest me?" He asked the serious question with such a jovial lilt that Hawke wondered if he hadn't taken some of his own medicine at some point that morning.

Hawke shrugged, "How about during?"

Anders tapped his thin thoughtfully, smirking at her. "That just may work."

"Well, we have another favor to ask you before anyone gets arrested." Bethany piped up from the corner.

Hawke turned her eyes to her sister and almost laughed. The smile that was painted on Bethany's face was the same one she always used whenever she wanted something. It made her look like an angelic child, and she knew it. Anders was doomed.

"Um," Anders stuttered as he took in the change in Bethany's expression, "of course, what can I do for you?"

Hawke walked to the window to take in the view while Bethany explained their nighttime rendezvous. Anders would accompany them, as would Varric, after Bethany got her claws in them both. She was a professional little sister, after all.

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><p>The Hanged Man was crowded as Hawke and Bethany made their way up the steps to Varric's private quarters. Dusk had fallen sullenly on the city, and they were on their way to meet their two cohorts for the night's less than legal activity.<p>

Anders and Varric were already there, waiting for them, as Hawke pushed the door open. Varric sat in his throne-like chair, a plate of barely touched stew and a mug of what Hawke hoped was not ale set in front of him. Anders leaned against the wall, hands folded and ankles crossed, conversing with the dwarf.

The conversation stopped as the sisters entered the room. Hawke had the impression that whatever had passed between the two had been of a relatively serious nature. Varric looked unphased as he always did, but Anders was not so quick to recover his relaxed expression.

"Evening ladies," Varric greeted. "Care for a drink?"

Hawke glowered at the dwarf as he winked at her. Her dark gaze flitted to Anders. "Somebody has a big mouth."

Anders shrugged, a guilty smile spreading across his face. "He asked how my day was. You were, by far, the most interesting patient I saw today."

"No shame in that at all, Hawke," Varric waved them all to sit. "It just means you need more practice being drunk."

"Not for several days at least, Varric." Hawke slid into her chair. "I'd rather not become a staple in Anders' clinic, or get my faced smashed in by flying boots." She slid her eyes to her sister.

"Now there's a story I'm not sure I want to hear," the dwarf chuckled.

"It's much less interesting than it sounds, Varric," Bethany chirped. "Trust me."

Hawke leaned forward in her chair, setting her elbows on the table, "Yes well, that's all fine and good, but we have more pressing matters to discuss than my lack of resilience."

Anders stepped away from the wall and slid into the chair next to Bethany. When Hawke finally had everyone's attention, she began detailing exactly what they would be undertaking that night.

As Bethany had been kind enough to remind her that morning, their former boss had graciously passed a bit of extra work their way. In all likelihood it was a job that he didn't consider profitable enough for his own interests or one that was destined to fail. Unfortunately for Hawke and her ragtag group of cronies, they didn't have the luxury of being picky.

A dwarf by the name of Anso was less than delicately asking for help with something that was probably a bit less than legal. Fortunately for Hawke, the companions who would be participating in the job that night had no qualms whatsoever about breaking any number of different laws. Their task was to meet with him, and find out what it was he needed. If it seemed legitimate enough, they would take the job.

_Hell, at this point, if he doesn't pull a weapon and attempt to rob us on the spot, we'll probably take the job._ It was the first item on their very short list of options at the moment, so they didn't have much in the way of choice. Hawke tried to stress to them all the importance of vigilance. The odds were very high that at some point something was probably going to go wrong, but she had every faith that they could handle whatever it was.

More or less.

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><p>"Really, Hawke?" Varric grumped at her side as they walked into the Alienage.<p>

Unfortunately, the dwarf had a point. Anso's job had sounded nice and simple. Retrieve the stolen cargo. Bring the cargo back to him, and they would get paid. It was so simple that Hawke purposely overlooked the part where it was probably too good to be true.

Creeping into the Alienage confirmed her fears. Nothing stirred in the small courtyard. The silence was deep enough to be deafening. Everything about this situation screamed ambush. If there truly was stolen lyrium being housed anywhere in here, the distinct lack of a lookout would have been a stupid rookie mistake.

Stupid rookies usually didn't go after illegal cargo destined for Templars.

"Just keep that crossbow ready, Varric. We're probably going to need it." Hawke crept to the door of what was supposed to be an abandoned house.

She knelt in the dirt and pressed her ear to the door, concentrating. It was mostly silent on the other side of the thin wood. But every so often Hawke could discern soft shuffling. She sighed, looking back at her group and nodding, a grimace on her face. Reaching behind her head, Hawke carefully, silently slid her sword free of its sheath. Her companions seemed to brace themselves.

"Hear that, Bianca, baby?" Varric purred as he slowly drew his crossbow over his shoulder, "it's time to come out and play."

Anders and Bethany both reached for the staves they had stowed across their backs. As Hawke stood and watched to make sure they were ready, she could have sworn she saw a faint luminescence circling Anders' feet. She shook her head and looked away, satisfied with not knowing what exactly it was he was doing. Bracing herself, she edged the door open slightly.

_Pitch black. Of course it's pitch black. Why can't I ever be ambushed by someone carrying a lantern?_

She looked back to Bethany, and her sister nodded. They had been through this routine before. Stepping forward to stand with her sister, Bethany held her staff aloft. With a soft word, the ornament at its tip began to glow. Hawke smiled and stepped to the side, averting her eyes.

Bethany thrust her staff forward. The soft light that had been radiating from the weapon seemed to jump away from the wood and into the blackened room. As it began to arc through the blackness and fall to the floor, it exploded in a blinding flash of light.

The silence exploded into pained screams and Hawke shouldered her way inside. Bethany's spell hovered in the center of the room, its light thankfully dimmed. It cast a friendly glow into the corners, and across the faces of the many armed thugs. There were too many of them for her to count in the instant that she had, so Hawke didn't bother. Fortunately, they were so busy yelling in pain and grasping at their eyes that Hawke had parted two of them from their heads before the rest even realized what had happened.

Hawke stepped into the center of room, leading with her blade. The first two men she had killed easily, but the third proved a bit more difficult. She swung her blade from behind her head in a downward arc that should have cleaved the man from shoulder to navel. Unfortunately, this opponent did not seem quite as easily fooled as his comrades. The look in his eyes told Hawke he could see her quite well, and the broadsword shuddered in her hands with a ringing wail as steel met steel.

With a shove, he slid her weapon down the length of his sword, throwing her off balance and setting Hawke on her heels.

"That blade's too large for one so small, little girl." His voice was low, but somehow Hawke heard it in the din that was beginning to erupt around her. A sharp thunk sounded and one of Bianca's quarrels whizzed through the air, landing with a muted gurgle somewhere behind her.

Her opponent's voice was soft, and lilted in a way she did not recognize, with an accent she could not place. She took the sight of him in quickly as he raised his weapon to advance on her.

He was tall. The broadsword in his hands seemed much more suited to him than Hawke's did to her. It was also a clean, straight blade, with a simple, but well-crafted pommel. His armor, too, was well made and sturdy. _Part of a matched set..._

Hawke's eyes grew wide as realization dawned on her. These were not Lowtown thieves simply stealing a merchant's wares. These were professional killers, with finely crafted weapons and armor to match.

_Oh, shit..._

It was the only thought she had time for as the mercenary's blade descended on her. She dropped to a knee and raised her sword just in time to prevent her skull from being split cleanly open. Their blades slid against one another, and Hawke stood, bringing the curling hilt of her sword up. The edge of his blade sung as it hit the guard on hers. Her arms ached as he pushed against her. The brutal strength of the man was staggering.

Suddenly, as it had happened so many times before, something seemed to click into place in Hawke's mind. The screams and shouts of battle behind her, the familiar whooshing of Bethany's magic, sweat and blood and steel on steel all blurred together into one glorious stream of consciousness. Hawke looked up at him through half lidded eyes and smiled.

He paused for just a moment, bewildered at the look on her face. That was the only moment Hawke needed. With a lurch, she twisted her hands, hooking his blade with her hilt and tearing it out of his grasp to clatter on the floor. The force of her pull swung the point of her blade uselessly away from the man. She grunted and shifted its weight to her right hand to bring her pommel up sharply and crush his finely crafted nose guard. With a shout, he brought his hands to his face. Hawke's blade had swung a full circuit however, and she brought the point to bear with both hands, sliding it under his sternum and twisting.

Hawke pivoted on her back foot and turned, drawing her gore covered blade out of the man as she moved. By the time his knees had struck the ground, she was halfway across the room.

Two crossbowmen had set their sights on the duo of mages that hung in the back of the room. So intent were they on the casters that they did not see their death coming from the side. Hawke ran with as much speed as she could manage in the small quarters, ducking quickly as one of their quarrels went flying past her head. Planting her foot, she stopped in front of the men and spun, sword outstretched.

She landed in a crouch, her back to her targets as their upper bodies slid away from their lower halves, landing wetly on the floor behind her.

She looked up hungrily to find her next victim when she realized there were no more. Shaking her head, she stood slowly, the tip of her blade sunk into the wood of the floor.

Blood was running freely over the floor, and bodies lay one on top of the other. A quick glance at her sister told Hawke that Bethany was alright. She was looking over Varric, making sure he was whole. Anders was staring openly at Hawke.

"What?" She panted at the mage, grinning. "Something on my face?"

Anders laughed at her. Hawke looked down and sighed as she realized she was, once again, covered from head to toe in blood. _I must look downright grisly_.

She shrugged and moved to the next room, where a large chest sat conspicuously on the floor. Nodding at the dwarf, he stepped forward to open it.

Varric knelt before the chest, studying it a moment before catching the latch and swinging the lid open. "Nothing, Hawke," he breathed. "Empty."

"Disappointing, but not surprising." Hawke wiped her blade on the back of a dead mercenary, realizing belatedly that it was probably not the most efficient way to get the blood off her sword. She shrugged and swung it instead onto her back. There would always be time to clean it later. "Does anyone else want to go find our jumpy dwarven friend and ask him a few questions?"

Bethany nodded seriously and plunged the house back into darkness with a soft-spoken word. The four companions crept through the blackness and filed out into the courtyard.


	4. Chapter 4

**_I apologize, this update is much later than I would've liked it to be. I'll try not to wait so long in between chapters again :). As usual, thanks to all who have alerted this story! Special thanks to Dragontiger96, Raven Jadewolfe, analect, and mandamcmoo for their insightful reviews and critiques. As always, much love to my fabulous beta mille libri, without whom this chapter would have been woefully embarassing. _**

**_Disclaimer:- there it is_**

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><p>The group exited the blood-soaked house, creeping quietly to avoid detection in the alienage's courtyard. However, as soon as Hawke stepped out into the moonlight, she realized stealth was an entirely moot point. Arrayed before her in a disturbingly close semi-circle was another group of the well-armed mercenaries. <em>Easily as many as we just killed,<em> her mind whirred with calculations as she spotted a robe clad man standing well to the back of the courtyard_, and a damn mage. Well to the Void with them, I have two mages._

Hawke squared her shoulders to face them. Her sword was gripped firmly in her right hand, ready to be brought to bear at a moment's notice. She only hoped that the sight of her and her merry band covered head to toe in gore would give the mercenaries a moment's pause. The bloodlust was still singing in her ears and fingers twitched impatiently around the hilt of her sword. She opened her mouth to address the center of the deadly arc of mercenaries, but one of their numbers beat her to it.

"That's not the elf!" Again the voice had an uncommon accent to it that she couldn't place. And it seemed extremely put out.

Hawke's mouth hung open for a moment, her mind trying to process this information. _...elf? When was the last time I even saw an elf...?_

A harsh female voice barked out from under the strange helm of the center soldier, "Our orders were clear. 'Kill whoever enters the house.'"

No sooner had her voice faded than several crossbows had their deadly bolts trained on Hawke. _Well... that was the idea, wasn't it? 'Step out in front, Marian.' 'You're wearing the most armor, Marian.' 'Make sure they see you before they see Bethany, Marian.'_ She sighed heavily, suppressing a wince and swinging her broadsword before her, both hands firmly on the pommel. She leapt forward, toes grinding in the dust. Even as her feet skimmed the ground she could hear the distinct click of the quarrels being loosed in the air. _Just let me get the bitch in the middle. That's all I ask, Maker. She's the reason I may not make it out of this. Let me just take her with me._

Hawke fixed her eyes on the nondescript faceplate that had spoken the words that could spell her end. In the space of a moment, Hawke was on her, slicing a red line from the mercenary's nose to her navel. A quick cough was all that escaped the dying woman's lips as the contents of her torso slid from between her clutching hands onto the stones below.

Hawke looked over herself quickly. The crossbow quarrels she expected to find sticking from her flesh were conspicuously absent. As she looked up, she realized the reason she hadn't been hit. A swirling white globe spun around her protectively, casting an angelic glow on her bloodstained sword. She spun quickly, surprise evident in her motion. Her eyes found Anders.

He stood with his back to the door of the abandoned home. Bethany and Varric stood protectively in front of him. Bianca was singing, loosing bolt after bolt into anyone that got too close. Bethany's hands glittered fiercely, and shards of ice flew out before her, impaling anyone stupid enough to be in her way. But Anders was by far the most impressive of the three. He positively shone with the amount of power pouring from him. His hands were weaving, constant streams of controlled motion, and fluid as water. Magic swam eagerly through his fingers. And his stare was firmly fixed on Hawke.

His amber gaze bored through her, and his mouth quirked up at the corner in an understanding smirk. All in all, standing in the eye of a storm of magic, covered in blood, smirking suggestively, Hawke thought he was quite possibly the most terrifying thing she had ever seen.

_...or the sexiest._

A guttural scream to her left snapped her back to herself._ Andraste's tits, Marian, REALLY!_ She shook herself free from her thoughts and tried to find the source of the scream. A quick glance showed that one of Varric's quarrels had found one of the mercenaries through a gap in his armor, the bolt lodged deep in his neck. The sword the mercenary had been holding moments before clattered to the ground at her feet.

_And now I owe Varric a drink._

Hawke's eyes scanned the courtyard for her next victim. A deathly chill ran down the length of her spine, and she shuddered. She cursed herself soundly for overlooking the most dangerous opponent on the field.

The mage was huddled in a corner. His own misty globe surrounded him as he cast his spells, mousy eyes fixed beadily on her. His protective sphere, however, was nothing compared to the maelstrom of magic she found herself the center of. Hawke wondered again just how powerful Anders was as she closed the gap to her latest victim.

The scuffle was quick, but bloody. It seemed only the work of a few moments before Hawke and her three companions were once again surrounded only by shredded corpses. While she was impressed by their decisive successes, Hawke knew that her group needed a moment. Bethany had come out of both scraps without a scratch on her, but she looked exhausted from the effort. Anders had spent a lot of himself protecting their entire group, and he was still fussing over a fairly nasty gash Varric had received.

Hawke took a step towards them. Depending on how tired her mages were, and how ugly that wound on Varric's arm was, Hawke was seriously considering calling it a night and dealing with Anso tomorrow. If these were his mercenaries, then he would beyond a doubt have more of the bastards surrounding him. It may be time, for once, to let prudence win out in one of her decisions. Before she had even reached the trio, however, another one of those annoyingly foreign voices echoed across the alienage's yard.

"I don't know who you think you are, but you have made a grievous error interfering with matters that are none of your concern!"

She turned swiftly to see a man descending the steps into the courtyard. He was armored in the same regalia as the mercenaries lying dead at Hawke's feet. But this man wore no helm. Whoever he was, he was not actually meant to see battle. Either that or he was so cocksure he left it off to make a statement. Considering his swagger as he reached the bottom step, Hawke thought it was probably a little of both.

"Lieutenant!" He barked, "I want everyone in the clearing **now**!"

"Oh you have got to be KIDDING me..." Hawke mumbled under her breath. Bethany groaned behind her, settling herself wearily into another battle stance. Even Anders seemed winded as he began chanting softly. Varric was unruffled. The only sign that all was not well with the dwarf was that he couched Bianca against his shoulder without comment.

The four of them waited, tension rising with every moment that passed. Their eyes were focused at the top of the stairs, simply waiting for the next wave of enemies to appear. A shuffling noise from just out of sight seemed to confirm their fears. Hawke brought her sword to the ready, preparing her feet to move.

Yet rather than a host of bloodthirsty enemies, the only opponent to appear was a single staggering mercenary. His hand was clutched to his chest and blood welled out from between his fingers to drip wetly on the pavement below. He made to speak to his commander, but the only sound that issued from beneath his helm was a garbled spluttering that made even Hawke's stomach consider turning.

He fell heavily to his knees, face turned to the man who had led him to his death. His armor clattered as his body slumped to the ground heavily, not to move again.

Hawke's sword tip slid to the dust as she saw the expression on the face of her helmless adversary. Clearly, there would be no more swarming of enemies. She had almost heaved a sigh of relief when another figure stepped out of the alley and strolled down the stairs.

He was short, lithe, seeming almost to glide down the steps. His armor was raven black, and seemed to be imitating the bird. Feather-like points rose vertically from his pauldrons, sharp and angry. Hawke realized with a start that he was barefoot as he trod gently across the courtyard, blood staining his feet as he walked. His hair was startlingly white and brushed against skin tanned to an olive tinted brown. His face was nearly invisible beneath it, his head tilted ever so slightly towards the ground.

Yet easily the most striking feature of this strange newcomer was the delicate swirl of tattoos that covered his body, even down to his unclad feet. Marian had seen many tattoos before. One did not work in a mercenary band for a year and not see some of the most offensive, obscene pieces of body art imaginable. Conversely, she had also lived in Lowtown during that time, alongside the elves of the alienage. You had only to peek into their courtyard to see elves with nostalgic Dalish-style tattoos covering almost every inch of their face. But the ones that decorated this man were wholly apart from anything Hawke had ever seen. Most tattoos she knew of were colored with a dark ink, meant to stand out from the hue of the skin. Yet his were so light they were almost white. And they seemed to very nearly glow, their brightness was so striking.

_That... must be the elf..._

Hawke's mind was whirling trying to take in all of these new and unusual features when the subject in question spoke. He strode confidently past the befuddled mercenary.

"Your men are dead, and your cause is lost. Run back to your master while you still have legs to carry you."

The wheels of Hawke's mind screeched to a halt when she heard him speak. Never, in all her years in Thedas, had she ever heard an elf with a voice like **that**. Most elves had soft voices, their pitch almost always a few tones higher than that of the average human. This elf's voice however, was deep, and gravelly. It was low and almost sensuous in the way it formed around the words he spoke.

"You're coming with me, slave!" The idiocy of the last mercenary standing in the clearing certainly knew no bounds. He stepped up aggressively, with no weapon apparent, to lay his hand firmly on the elf's shoulder.

He glared at the offending hand just a moment before the pale tattoos on his skin pulsed with a blinding brightness. A blue mist seemed to swirl into existence just under his skin, turning the elf before her into a shining, ghost-like wraith. He whirled on the man behind him even as his right hand came up, as if to strike him. It was only then that Hawke noticed every finger on the end of his gauntlets tapered off into a cruelly sharpened point.

She hardly had time to note this before the elf seemed to push his hand **through** the mercenary. The poor man's face contorted with surprise and rage. The elf leaned forward almost gently, dangerous voice issuing a vicious growl. "I am no slave."

In a heartbeat, he closed his fist on what could only have been the man's heart, and ripped his fist out of the chest it had been buried in. Hawke stared openly at the raw, red trophy clutched between the sharp black fingers of his gauntlet. He dropped it unceremoniously to the ground, where it slapped the stone with a sickening _plop_. He turned slowly and faced them, the azure glow retreating back into the swirling lines on his skin. Straightening himself, his eyes found Hawke.

She realized belatedly that she and her entire party were still crouched and ready for combat. Hawke stood straight, sheathing her broadsword. She took a step forward towards the elf and looked at him cautiously.

His eyes were a deep moss green, framed by white hair tumbling over his forehead. Unlike many elves, he had kept it cut short, but the effect was not unpleasant. He seemed to have the habit of tilting his head slightly to the side as he regarded her. She imagined that stemmed from trying to speak to people through a white veil of hair. Hawke suppressed a smile at the thought.

"I apologize." The formality in his tone almost brought Hawke up short. "When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the Hunters, I had no idea they'd be so... numerous."

Snapped away from her thoughts, Hawke latched onto the obvious discrepancy. "This was never a job for Anso, was it?" She tried to keep the sullen tone out of her voice, and was only barely successful.

"I am the reason you are here, if that's what you mean." He took a few steps towards Hawke. "My name is Fenris. The men that you slaughtered were Imperial Bounty Hunters. They were hired to recover a magister's lost property and return it to him, namely myself. They were crude and hardly subtle, but I could not defeat them alone. I needed someone to draw them out. I had no real idea of their numbers, but thankfully Anso chose wisely."

His eloquence set Hawke on her heels. He was covered in nearly as much blood as she was, but spoke as if there were no bodies littering the floor. It was a formal, pleasant meeting of a new acquaintance. Hawke didn't think she'd ever be able to pull that off.

Hawke heard Anders curse softly behind her, and she nodded in agreement. "If these men really were slavers, then I'm glad we helped."

Fenris regarded her for a moment, his green eyes searching her face, ostensibly for some sign of duplicity. "I... have met very few in my travels who are interested in anything beyond their own interests. You have my thanks." He paused a moment before continuing. "If I may ask, what was in the chest?"

Hawke blinked, surprised at the question, "The one in the house? It was empty."

His eyes fell a moment and he sighed. "I shouldn't be surprised."

"You were expecting something else?" Hawke's curiosity took a fierce hold on her.

"I was..." he grudgingly admitted, "but I shouldn't have."

Hawke let the silence stretch between them for a moment before a nagging thought pushed to the front of her mind. After a moment a light seemed to click on behind her eyes. "Imperial Bounty Hunters... Tevinter! The bloody accent. Thank the Maker. That would've bothered me for days."

Fenris eyed her as if she had sprouted a second head. One black eyebrow rose questioningly as he stared. "Yes... they were from the Imperium. As am I, if unwillingly."

Hawke flushed red. "I'm sorry," she coughed a moment self-consciously, "I apologize. I have a bit of a habit with... blurting things. Don't mind me."

He nodded his head slowly, his eyes scrutinizing her face, "I shall endeavor not to."

Hawke winced. That didn't go at all as she would have liked it. _Time to change the subject, Marian._ "You know... you didn't have to lie to us to get our help. You could have asked for it, rather than sending myself and my men into two unexpected groups of very angry armed thugs." The petulance seeped into her voice despite her best efforts.

Fenris's eyes never wavered from her face, seemingly searching for something. "That remains to be seen."

He knelt next to the corpse of the man whose heart now lay beside him. Slender fingers worked at the clasps holding the pouches on the man's belt closed. "It is as I thought. My former master accompanied them to the city."

He stood abruptly to face her again, and Hawke was startled by the sudden fire behind his eyes. "I know you have questions, but they must wait." He spoke quickly, the urgency apparent. "I must confront him before he hears of your successes. He will flee, and be beyond my reach. I must do this before morning."

Hawke quirked an eyebrow at the elf. Apparently she was being volunteered to finish the job that she had been tricked into doing in the first place. Despite the fact that it was for a very noble cause, going up against a magister at all would be a pain in the ass. As it stood, her whole group had just come through two exhausting fights. She didn't know Anders or Varric well enough to know where their limits lay, but she did know that she had long passed Bethany's.

She looked over her shoulder to confirm her suspicions. Bethany stood behind her, her eyes resolutely fixed on the elf before them. But Hawke could see the way she leaned on her staff. Her sister strained to keep her eyes open, and her shoulders rolled ever so slightly forward. She was spent, and there was no way Hawke was going to put her in front of anything else that wanted to kill her tonight.

_And yet... _It wasn't often that Hawke got to do anything that anyone would ever consider noble. When it came down to the heart of the matter, she was a sword for hire, a petty thug. More often than not, she didn't have the luxury of morals. _Once, just once, I would like it said that I did the right thing for no other reason than because it was the right thing to do._ Hawke realized that this was the first time in a long time she could do something worthy of that ideal.

"Alright," Hawke sighed tiredly, "If it means killing more slavers, I'm with you. But there is something I absolutely must do first."

Fenris nodded brusquely. "Very well. He is staying in a mansion in Hightown. I will wait for you there. Do not tarry."

She nodded and the elf turned from her. He sprang up the stairs and seemed to melt back into the shadows, disappearing entirely.

Hawke sighed and wiped a gauntleted hand across her face, turning to her companions. "Well, that was... different."

"You seem to be a bit of a magnet for the unusual, Hawke," Varric quipped. He pulled a heavy handle jutting from the top of Bianca, and the massive arms of the crossbow snapped reluctantly in to lay flush against the stock. He shouldered her lovingly and dusted off his coat.

"I'm beginning to notice that," she sighed. A quick once over of her troupe showed her that Varric and Anders, while a bit worn, could easily be fixed up with a drink and a bit of liquid lyrium, respectively. Bethany, however, was too far gone to be helped by anything but sleep. "We need to stop by Gamlen's and the Hanged Man before we venture up to Hightown."

They had been keeping the majority of their supplies in Varric's rooms at the Hanged Man. Ironically enough, it was the one dwelling of theirs that was least likely to be rummaged through. No one trusted Gamlen farther than they could throw him. So when Hawke mentioned that they needed to stop back by his hovel before continuing on, Bethany eyed her warily.

"What's at home that we need to pick up?" She drew the question out slowly, half expecting that she already knew the answer.

"Nothing. But we need to drop you off there first." Hawke couldn't keep the guilty grimace off her features.

"You're joking." Bethany's eyes flared angrily at her sister. "You're going to go into a magister's home, with whatever defenses he's erected, without me? You're shorting yourself a weapon, Marian! It's moronic! It's stupid! It's-"

"It's my final decision, Bethany." Hawke's face was hard as she regarded the young mage. "You're absolutely exhausted. I would never forgive myself if I dragged you in there and you got hurt. Especially when I can make sure to do something about it now. Go home, and get a good night's rest. Tomorrow is another day and there are many more things that we need to do. I need you at your best tomorrow. Most of all, I need you not dead."

Bethany glared daggers at her, but offered no argument. Flexing her fingers stiffly against her staff, she picked it up off the ground and stalked away from them, quickly mounting the steps out of the alienage.

"Now Sunshine, don't be like that," Varric called plaintively after her. She didn't even turn around.

Hawke pinched the bridge of her nose, exasperation written across every feature. "Andraste's ass, I hate it when she does that." She turned and followed her wayward sibling. "She knows damn well I can't let her walk by herself all the way back to Gamlen's."

She felt gentle fingers grasp her shoulder. "Hawke, wait."

She stopped, casting a look behind her. Anders was smiling down at her gently, his face calm and understanding. "I'll walk her home. Why don't you and Varric go grab a few supplies from the Hanged Man? I'll meet you there."

Hawke's response was a smile that positively glittered with unguarded relief. "That would be perfect, Anders, thank you."

"No trouble," he smiled at her a moment before bounding away after her sister, his step light as he walked. Hawke watched him go until Varric coughed conspicuously behind her.

"Should I leave you and the empty alleyway alone for a moment?" The smirk he shot her way was positively wicked.

"Ass..." she hissed through clenched teeth. "Let's just go get what we need and be on our way. That elf didn't seem like the most... patient person." Hawke walked briskly towards the steps.

Varric slid into step by her side as they disappeared into the dark alleyway, "You can say that again, Hawke."

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><p>The Hanged Man was filled with its usual level of noise and idiocy. Varric and Hawke sat in Varric's room while he downed a quick drink. It was some sort of house specialty, according to him. Whatever it was, Hawke kept her distance from it. It smelled nasty in more ways than she could count.<p>

"Just one round now, Varric," Hawke cautioned the dwarf. "I don't think our new elven friend would be one bit impressed if we arrive late in Hightown with you reeking of booze."

He sighed dramatically and pushed the tankard away from him. "You are an expert killjoy, Hawke."

She smirked at him as she tapped her fingers on the table, "I'll tell you what, Varric. If this job goes off smoothly, when we come back, I'll buy you two."

The sound of boots quickly mounting the stairs outside the door reached her ears, and Hawke pushed herself away from the table. Varric followed suit, retrieving Bianca.

"I'm going to hold you to that, Hawke."

A broad smile spread across her face. "You do that."

The door open quickly and Anders slid into the room. A harried look hung about his features. Hawke furrowed her brow as she handed the mage a much needed lyrium potion from her satchel. "We weren't going to leave you, Anders. You didn't have to run."

"Sorry," he drawled guiltily. "Bethany decided to bite my head off before she would let me leave again. I didn't want to be too late." Pulling the cork from the small blue vial, he quickly downed its contents before sighing gently.

Hawke's eyes narrowed dangerously, "She yelled at you for making sure she got home safely? You have got to be kidding."

Anders hand waved dismissively at her. "That's not what it was about, but it's unimportant. We have a job to do, and I think we're already farther behind than our new friend would like."

Hawke nodded slowly, pushing many ugly questions out of her head. She would ask him later. For the moment, he was right. They were already late.

* * *

><p>"Well this was... unexpectedly profitable," Varric quipped as they left the Hightown mansion. His pockets and arms were loaded with some of the finest quality goods Hawke had ever seen. When Fenris had given them permission to more or less raid the empty mansion, Varric had taken him at his word. Hawke had plundered only a few useful items, mostly weaponry.<p>

She strapped her newly acquired throwing knife to her belt as she nodded. "It's not like we didn't earn them, though. I hate bloody shades. It always seems like my sword is little more than useless against them.

"It's not." Anders was at her side, inspecting a wicked looking staff that the magister had apparently not had the presence of mind to take with him. "Simply existing on this plane means they need to keep a sort of physical form." He smirked at her slyly, "Though I imagine the lack of blood pouring out of them when you strike is a bit of a disappointment."

Hawke snorted, "That's one way of putting it."

The three of them wound their way out of the mansion, stepping carefully over debris. The place had been thoroughly trashed, and Hawke couldn't tell at this point whether it was due to their brawling, or if it had already been a derelict estate. She supposed it probably didn't matter much anyway.

Their new elven friend had excused himself quickly after discovering that this magister, Danarius, was no longer in the home. He had needed some air, he said. Hawke grimaced at the vague comment. It was entirely possible some of the destruction was his own doing during his quick exit.

The air outside of the manor felt fresh and clean after the stifling environment inside it. A gentle breeze played across Hawke's face, and she closed her eyes to enjoy it. The smile had barely even surfaced on her mouth before a voice broke in on her enjoyment.

"I left a land of dark and tainted magic. I spend every waking moment avoiding capture so that I will never experience it again. And yet now, here, I find myself in the company of even more mages." Fenris leaned against a column in the courtyard, moonlight spilling over him. His face was clouded with an emotion Hawke could not read.

He pushed himself heavily away from the stone column, walking with measured steps towards Hawke. Anders and Varric arrayed themselves at her sides. Fenris paused, still several feet from her. She couldn't help but be nervous. Hawke had seen the elf awash in a blue light, swinging a sword easily as impressive as her own, and laying waste to everyone around him. Her odds were good on this particular occasion, but she would still rather not take her chances.

"I imagine that comment was directed at me." Anders stood at her side, and she could swear he drew himself up just slightly under the elf's careful scrutiny.

"I saw you casting spells inside." The words were bitten off harshly. Fenris turned his large green eyes to Hawke's face. "You harbor a viper in your midst. It serves a purpose for the moment, but do not let it fool you. When you least expect, it will turn on you and strike." His gaze darkened dangerously, "It is their way."

Hawke had stepped forward, putting herself between the enraged elf and her companion. "Anders has served both as a Grey Warden and as an invaluable healer to the people of this city." The words were louder and a good deal more aggressive than she meant them to be. Hawke had to catch herself before she took a step back, surprised by the venom in her own words.

Anders coughed softly behind her. "Among other things, but there's no reason to go into that now."

"I am not ignorant of the fact that magic has its uses. I state only what I know. Magic corrupts everything it touches." Fenris straightened and his features calmed. "I do not mean to sound ungrateful. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth." He reached to a satchel at his side, pulling out a coin purse. "Here is everything Anso promised, for your troubles." He seemed to pause a moment, considering his next words, "You have done more than was asked of you. I have no more coin, but if you have need of my assistance, you will find me here."

The simple comment hit Hawke like a splash of cold water to the face. She peered at him suspiciously. "Can I trust you to work with mages?"

His eyebrows lifted slightly at the obvious plural Hawke used, but he nodded. "I find it is easier to protect against a snake when I can see its head."

Anders snorted at her side, clearly dissatisfied with the response.

Hawke regarded Fenris a moment. "I'm planning an expedition to the Deep Roads. I could use your help." She heard Anders give a start next to her. Clearly he did not see the necessity of adding to their numbers. Hawke, however, was nothing if not practical.

"I am at your disposal. I will be here if you have need of me." Fenris gave a small bow with an incline of his head. He ghosted silently past them and into the ruin of a mansion. The three stood outside its door for a moment in silence.

Varric, as usual, saved them. "So Hawke... you said two rounds, right?"


	5. Chapter 5

**_I managed to get this one in something close to on time! Hooray! I would again like to thank my dutiful reviewers Dragontiger96, Raven Jadewolfe, analect, mandamcmoo, and Aenya. You folks not only keep me on track with the story, but believe it or not, are helping me write it (I do listen to suggestions occasionally ;) ). And of course, no author's note is complete without a heartfelt thank you to mille libri, my fabulous beta, who brandishes the yellow sword of highlighted justice against the fiendish commas that threaten to run away with me. Much love. Anyway, on with chapter five!_**

**_P.S. Shameless plug: If you folks haven't popped over to the profiles of those mentioned above and checked out some of their Dragon Age fics, you really really should. Do yourself a favor. They're fabulous._**

* * *

><p>For the second evening in a row, Marian Hawke found herself sneaking into her own residence like a thief in the night. She hoped whatever fool's luck had allowed her to enter, undress, and crash unceremoniously into bed without a hint of detection the night before would be with her again. She highly doubted it.<p>

The house was quiet. Yet as she approached the door to their pitifully tiny room Hawke could make out the muted flickering of candle light dancing under the door. She grimaced. Somehow, she knew she was paying for her uncharacteristic luck. Sure, stumbling through a darkened house in heavy armor, with a sword, blind drunk at hours unknown leaves no one the wiser. Walking through the house on timid cat paws means someone is up and waiting for her.

_I can hardly be surprised. The daft girl blistered Anders's ears for Maker knows what. She'll certainly have no qualms turning that tongue on me, especially now that she's been given a few hours to stew about it. _

Hawke shook her head and sighed slowly. There was nothing for it but to meet her fate. If Bethany was going to yell, she was going to yell. At least if she went in the room, there was the shining hope that maybe she could fall asleep before her sister's tirade really picked up steam.

The door swung open gently at her touch. The room seemed empty. Sliding inside, Hawke could see Bethany's raven hair spilling over the corner of her bunk.

_Maker be praised, she's already asleep! I am not that lucky. I'll be stepping on dead rats and shit piles in Darktown for weeks to pay this off. _

She crept to the small table that held the single low burning candle. Licking her finger quickly, Hawke snuffed the flame and slid ever so carefully into her bed.

Her muscles were just beginning to relax when a harsh snapping sound came from the bed above her. The candle jumped back to life and Hawke groaned, throwing an arm over her face. She heard Bethany's bare feet thunk on the wooden floor beside her head.

_Well at least this way I won't have to clean shit off my boots._

"You're home." Bethany's deadpan tone did not hearten Marian at all.

"Well spotted. You're supposed to be resting. For that matter, so am I. Do you think you can postpone biting my head off until morning?" Hawke kept her arm across her eyes. If she didn't look at her sister, she could possibly put this conversation off until a time she wasn't about to fall asleep with her shoes on.

"Anyone dead?" Bethany apparently had no thought of being deterred.

"Not yet. Bruised beyond reason? Yes. If you can find it in your heart to dredge up some healing for those, I wouldn't say no."

"I wouldn't want to over exert myself when I'm so exhausted. I might **die**." She bit the words off as if she hated every syllable. Apparently the venom in them felt as awful on Bethany's tongue as it did on Hawke's ears.

"By all means then, forego the healing and go back to your sleep so that I can get to mine." Hawke's patience was running dangerously thin. Her day had started in a less than desirable manner, been filled with near constant running around, and ended with hours of exhausting fights. She was in no mood to humor Bethany's adolescent fits. "If it is still eating at you in the morning, I'll even let you hit me with your staff. Go. To. Sleep."

"I am not a child!" Bethany hissed. Her words were anything but soft. A few more outbursts like that and surely either their mother or Gamlen would hear. Frankly, Hawke wasn't sure who she'd like to see less right now.

_That's it..._

Hawke threw her arm away from her face and bolted upright in bed, fixing Bethany with what she could only hope was the most menacing stare she had. "If you were acting any more childish at the moment, Bethany, I would be well within my rights to swaddle you in a cloth, throw you in your bunk myself, and threaten you with a switch if you so much as peep. Get into your bed this **instant**, or Maker help me I will not be responsible for what I do."

Bethany blinked at her sister, shock written on her face. Marian could see the tick in her jaw that meant she was biting down on some particularly nasty spell, her nostrils flaring. Bethany nodded once. "Very well, sweet sister. The morning then."

Hawke's eyes followed her sister as she put out the candle and slowly made her way back to bed. It wasn't until she could hear Bethany's weight settling on the mattress above her that Hawke finally let herself lie back down and relax. Then she remembered she was still wearing her shoes. She gave a soft curse and sat up again. Working the buckles and straps as quickly as possible, she strained her ears for any sound from above her. Silence was all that greeted them.

Setting her boots on the floor beside her bed, she finally, blessedly lay down again on her lumpy mattress and let her eyes close. For at least the next few hours, she would refuse to contemplate anything beyond sweet unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>Marian's eyes cracked open slowly to a room still largely dark. Yet still, clear bars of sunlight squeaked their way through the slats in the walls. Rolling to face them, Hawke peered outside to the streets below. The gray sharpness of early morning greeted her eyes. Peasants and stall barkers and various ruffians made their way about their morning business up and down the alley just beyond Hawke's walls. It was early enough that they were still quiet. Marian knew, however, that given another half an hour or so the morning sun would clear the wispy fog that crept through the alleys and the day would begin in earnest, noise included.<p>

Hawke sat up slowly and ran a hand across her face. There was something she absolutely had to do today. It was probably the last thing in the world she wanted to do, but it also could wait no longer.

Determined to be up and get it over with, Hawke threw off her sheet and swung her feet to the floor. Only... they didn't hit the floor as they were supposed to. A vicious chill ripped through her feet and seemed to run all the way to her spine. Giving a shout, she peered over the side of the bed.

_What in the... oh that... that is fucking beautiful._

Sitting on the floor next to her bed, lumpy and misshapen, were her dutiful boots. Unfortunately for them, someone had seen fit to enclose them in a very ugly, very irregular block of ice.

"Bethany!" She bellowed, standing over her imprisoned shoes.

"Yes?" Hawke heard sweetly through the door.

"In here...** NOW!" **Hawke was almost to the point of trembling.

It was not Bethany, but their mother who first opened the door to see what Hawke was screaming about.

"Darling, what has gotten into...?" Leandra's eyes fell to the odd object at Hawke's feet. "Marian, dear, are those your boots?" Her eyes furrowed as if she could only partially make out the footwear through the wavy lines of frozen water.

"Yes, Mother," Hawke gritted out through clenched teeth. "They are my boots. I'm in great need of them, and for some reason, this morning, unlike every other morning, I find them incapable of bearing my feet!"

A light seem to come on behind Leandra's eyes and she winced. "I see. Bethany, come here if you would, please."

The snake in question slid her way to her mother's side, smiling sweetly. "Yes Mother?"

"I don't suppose you have any idea how your sister's boots came to be frozen, overnight, inside the house?" Leandra's eyebrows came up and the rage clutching Hawke's chest loosened ever so slightly. It was quite possible her mother could win this argument for her. There was no shame in that. Hawke was old enough to be an adult, but wise enough to realize there were some things you would always need your mother for... or use her for, as the case may be.

Bethany shrugged noncommittally. "Maybe they decided they wanted to match her unfeeling heart?"

"Bethany..." There it was: the tone their mother reserved for only the greatest disappointment. "I'm surprised at you. You're better than this childish nonsense."

_Aaah... sweet victory._ It took every ounce of Hawke's willpower not to grin triumphantly. Her mother had wasted no time in bringing out the dreaded c-word. This was all but done now.

Bethany's eyes went round as eggs. "Childish nonsense? But Mother you don't understand! She left me to -"

Leandra held her hand up and silenced the indignant girl as only a mother of many years can do. "You will apologize to your sister."

Bethany looked as though she wanted to cry. "But I -"

"And after you apologize to her, you will spend the rest of the day retrieving her shoes, without magic." Leandra's stern gaze bored through her youngest daughter. Hawke felt like dancing.

"Mother you can't -" her voice broke ever so slightly.

"You will not leave this house until you are finished. And if, after you are done, there has been any lasting damage made to them, you will find a way to replace them."

_Mother, have I told you I love you yet today?_

Bethany's eyes were downcast. She accepted defeat ungraciously, but she accepted it. That was all Hawke could hope for. "Yes, Mother."

"You start now."

"Now? But I was going to..." Raising her eyes, Bethany caught her mother's gaze and decided against saying what she was thinking. "Yes, Mother." She turned to Hawke and chewed her words a moment. "I apologize for freezing your boots, Marian."

Hawke nodded, but said nothing.

Leandra turned to leave the room, catching Hawke's eye and motioning her to follow. "Let's leave her to it, Marian." She nodded obediently and followed her mother into the hovel's main room.

Leandra sighed heavily and took a seat at the small wooden table. She motioned for Hawke to sit.

"Do not be too angry with her, darling. She's still half a child yet." Leandra's eyes were soft and gentle, pleading with her eldest daughter to let her bitterness go.

Hawke let out a deep breath and felt her anger bleed away from her. Her mother was right. Bethany was barely across the threshold of womanhood. "I do put a lot on her, I know."

Leandra smiled gratefully. "If you didn't, she would seek it out. I know you don't see it, Marian, but she idolizes you. Have a care for that. You are an enormously large shadow to stand in, and she does it gladly." Her eyes slid reluctantly to the table, "Carver would never have been so tractable with you always leading the way. She's trying, dearest. But she's still just a girl. She looks to you for support. It broke her heart when you left her."

Leandra's eyes met hers, and Hawke felt cold fingers of guilt. "She told you what happened?"

"Of course she told me." Her mother reached over to pat her hand. "Actually it was all I could do to keep her from screaming it at me. That poor man who was kind enough to escort her home caught most of it before I could intercept her." Leandra studied Marian's face a moment. "He said he was a friend of yours and that he had offered to walk Bethany home. Do make sure to apologize to him on her behalf. I hope he knows that is not how my daughter normally behaves."

"He knows. He's not upset. I think part of him understood. But... I couldn't take her with me, Mother, she was absolutely exhausted." Hawke's rambling sped up slowly as she tried to make sure her mother understood. "Bethany was dead on her feet. I couldn't put her in danger like that."

Leandra nodded and smiled, "And I thank you for that. I'm not going to be upset if one of my children manages to avoid danger for any small amount of time. I appreciate it, and I appreciate your position in the whole mess. All I ask is that you try to consider her feelings. Perhaps she couldn't come with you last night. Keep her in mind for things she can accompany you on." Her mother beamed at her oldest daughter. "You'll find a way to make it work out, dear."

_I always do. _Hawke's answering smile was only slightly strained. "I should go talk to her, shouldn't I?"

Leandra nodded sagely, "I think it would do her good. Maybe it will keep her from brooding all day."

"Ugh. Nobody likes a broody Bethany. I see your point." Marian stood slowly and walked back to her room.

Bethany was hunched on the floor, huddled over the frozen misshapen blob that used to be Hawke's boots. A soft warm glow was issuing from her palms, and she had no idea at all she was being watched. Hawke coughed conspicuously.

Bethany jumped, squeaking "I'm not using magic!" Her eyes wheeled about to find Marian in the door. "Oh, it's just you. Well... if you're here to check, I'm NOT using magic." She held out a small candle stub that had been tucked away in her hands.

"I never said you were." Hawke crossed the room to sit down on her bed, facing her sister.

"Then what do you want?" Bethany didn't even lift her gaze from the frozen footwear.

"I have something for you." Hawke reached under her covers to the foot of her bed, pulling out a small drawstring satchel.

Bethany stopped for a moment, looking at her sister. Her dark eyes were curious. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that while you were at home blistering mother's ears, I kept an eye out for things you might appreciate." Hawke allowed herself a small, malice-free smile. She held up the tiny pouch, dangling it in front of her sister.

Bethany set the small candle stub on the floor. "What kind of things?"

Hawke leaned forward and whispered low, "magey things." She upended the small pouch into Bethany's lap and was pleased with the gasp of appreciation.

"Marian... where did you get these?" Bethany picked up the small trinkets. They were tiny pieces of jewelry that Marian only hoped fit her sister. From what she had gathered, these weren't the sort of articles one could just take to a jeweler.

"They were in the magister's mansion. We all picked up a few things. I saw no reason for you not to benefit from our successes as well." She shrugged.

Bethany picked up a delicate looking silver ring that winked coldly in the early morning light. "They're absolutely perfect. But... how did you find them?" Bethany's eyes peered curiously at her sister. "You've always had a fine eye for weaponry, sister, but these? They are magic, and subtle magic at that. How did you know?"

"I had a little help," Marian admitted guiltily. "Apparently Anders moonlights as a jewelry consultant."

Bethany's mouth formed a soft 'o' as she stared again at her new baubles. "Anders picked them out for me...?" Her voice was low and Marian wasn't entirely sure that was something she was meant to hear.

"Ehm, yes, we both did. He told me which would suit you best." Marian shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

"And they're absolutely perfect..." Bethany slid the silver ring slowly onto her finger, inspecting it carefully. If Hawke didn't know any better, she would swear Bethany was glowing.

"Yes, well... I'm glad you like them." Marian stood. She stepped across the room to her small chest and began rummaging. Before long she surfaced with an older, worn pair of leather boots. She sighed heavily as she sat, pulling the flimsy feeling leather over her feet. Standing, she spared one last glance for her dutiful plate boots.

"I'm going to go see Varric about some temporary footwear replacement for the day. I have some errands to run." Hawke nodded towards the lump of ice on the floor. "It looks like that may take you awhile. I'll be back later for my other armor."

Bethany nodded, hardly seeming to hear her. She was still fixated on her shiny new trinkets. Hawke rolled her eyes and pulled on a leather vest. The sooner she could find a pair of sabatons, the sooner she could get on with her day.

She left Bethany about her business and strode back into the main room. She dropped a perfunctory kiss on her mother's cheek. "I'll be out most of the day, Mother. But since Bethany will be with you, I'm going to take Jax. I feel a little exposed with almost no armor."

Her mother nodded, "It will do him a world of good anyhow. He misses you both when you're gone too long. And he was never meant to be cooped up in such a small space. Mabari need room to run."

Hawke whistled sharply, and the massive hound loped into the room. "How about you come with me today, boy?" Jax barked loudly and spun in circles before running to the door.

Marian laughed and waved a farewell to her mother as she went to follow.

"Be careful dear," Leandra called after her. "Oh, and Marian?"

She turned to glance over her shoulder at her mother, hand clasping the door's latch. "Yes?"

"That man, who brought Bethany home..." Leandra's voice turned almost sly and Hawke felt the blood creep up to her cheeks.

"Anders."

Leandra nodded with a smile, "Yes, Anders. He seems like a very nice boy."

Hawke smiled nervously and nodded, "He is." She wrenched open the door as quickly as she dared and fled out into the growing sunlight.

* * *

><p>It felt odd to walk the streets of Lowtown with leather under her feet, but Hawke didn't consider it an unpleasant difference. The soft give of her shoes made for a pleasant change from unyielding steel.<p>

The stroll to the Hanged Man was short, but nice. The hovels and shops still cast the alleyways in deep shadows, hiding from the brutal sun. It was pleasantly cool and Hawke was in no particular hurry. She even felt something akin to relaxed. Walking calmly through Lowtown with her Mabari loping at her heels probably made her look a little more intimidating than she actually felt.

_If it works... it works_. She reached down and patted Jax's massive head. He turned his eyes to her and seemed to smile, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

Hawke pushed open the door to the Hanged Man and stared. She had never seen it so empty. There were a few patrons here and there, but half of them were asleep, and the other half looked as if they had been there since the night before. The bartender wiped the bar absentmindedly. He didn't even seem to notice someone had entered.

_You moron, it's just past dawn. Varric's likely not even awake yet._

She sighed and refrained from smacking herself on the forehead. But she was already here and it would make no sense not to at least check to see if Varric was awake. If he wasn't, she would likely just have to go to the market. She couldn't afford to wait around all day for a bloody pair of boots.

Creeping quietly up the stairs, she peeked over the landing. Not only was the door to Varric's room open, but there was a roaring fire in the hearth, and the dwarf himself was sitting at his table, poring over a large book, quill in hand.

Hawke strode forward and knocked on the doorframe, Jax sitting quietly at her side. "I see I'm not the only one with thousands of things to do today."

Varric looked up at her and grinned, laying down his writing and shoving the tome to the side. His eyes fell to Jax and grew wide. "Maker's breath, Hawke, you didn't tell me you kept a bear for a house pet."

Marian chuckled and patted the Mabari on the head, "Oh he's nothing but a big baby. Varric, this is Jax; Jax, my friend Varric." The dog walked forward slowly, pausing just enough to take a long sniff of Varric's fingers before wandering to the fireplace and sinking down onto the floor with a huff.

Varric laughed, "Well I'm glad I passed the test." He motioned for her to sit. "What can I do for you this fine morning, Hawke?" he asked as she sank into her chair.

"I find myself in need of temporary equipment." Hawke motioned to her unusual outfit.

Varric smirked at her, "I thought you were a little curvier today than I remembered."

Hawke rolled her eyes, "hilarious, Varric."

"Yes well, be that as it may, I don't precisely have full suits of plate armor at my disposal Hawke."

She blinked, "What? Oh! No, I don't need an entire set. I just need the boots. I've still got everything else."

"My mistake," Varric chuckled before pushing himself away from the table and walking over to an enormous chest by his bed.

"An easy one to mistake I imagine. I just thought I'd look a bit silly walking around in plate armor with leather shoes." She shuddered at the mental image.

"To me at this moment you look a bit silly because you aren't in plate at all, Hawke." Varric's voice was muffled, as he was leaning halfway into the chest.

"I don't know if I should be flattered or wounded, Varric." Hawke seriously considered feigning offense, but decided she would leave the blatant femininity and overreacting to Bethany.

He stood slowly, a pair of sabatons in his hands, "Likely a bit of both. These ought to serve you well enough. They're older, but in pretty good condition."

Hawke took the offered boots and weighed them in her hands. Their weight felt right, and even looked like they would fit without uncomfortable pinching. "Thanks Varric, these will do well."

"Keep them then. Maker knows I won't need them." He climbed back up in his chair and sat with a huff. "Are you wandering off to parts unknown today?"

"As always," she sighed dejectedly. "I don't suppose you'd want to come? I'd go by myself but it's up in Sundermount, and that's just asking for trouble."

Varric shook his head slowly, "I wish I could, Hawke, I really do, but there are just too many things to get taken care of with the expedition. I've already let half of this paperwork sit too long." He looked at her a moment sadly. "You still shouldn't go alone. Why not ask Blondie? He mentioned something yesterday about needing some more herb stock or some nonsense. I imagine he's itching to get out of the city for a while anyway."

Hawke mulled over the thought for a moment before nodding. "You're right, that's not a bad idea. Thanks, Varric. You... uh... you have fun with all the books."

"You're welcome. And I promise I won't. You can attempt to have fun for me, tramping about the insect-infested wilderness if you like." Varric smiled as he pulled his ledgers in front of him.

"Without a doubt." Hawke stood with a smirk and turned to leave the room. Jax heaved himself up off the floor and followed at her heels.

* * *

><p>The clinic was quiet as Hawke passed under the flickering lantern. Jax sniffed the air and whined. Apparently he appreciated the aroma of Darktown less than Marian did. She reached down to pat him. "Don't worry, boy, we won't be long. Have a seat and I'll be right back." He gave a huff and settled on the floor.<p>

Anders was not difficult to find. The clinic was empty, except for the mage. He seemed to be deep in thought staring at a bundle of something on a shelf Hawke could not even begin to identify. She could hear him mumbling incoherently to himself as he tapped his chin.

"Apparently none of us like sleep very much." She waited in the door. Clinic or no, last she checked entering someone's home without announcing oneself was still considered rude in some circles.

He gave a small start and turned to her, "Well, good morning to you too, Hawke. Though a word to the wise, try not to startle me. It can end... unpleasantly."

She chuckled and entered, eyes roaming over the many piles of dried and bundled herbs that littered the shelves. "Then it's a good thing I stood at the door. I promise I'll only make you jump when I'm a good twenty paces away from you."

Anders' welcoming smile pulled up into a smirk, "If you really startle me that badly, Hawke, twenty paces won't be of much use to you."

"Well, then convince your grumpy half not to fry me, and we'll be fine." Hawke plopped down on the one bench that wasn't covered in various medicinal ingredients. "What is all this anyway?"

"Inventory, mostly. I've run out of a few things. Unfortunately it means I'm going to have to go out and get most of it myself. I want to know how much and of what I actually need before I run around the wilderness getting my boots dirty." Anders reluctantly turned his eyes back to his work. "What trouble are you after today?"

Hawke chuckled, "Getting my boots dirty. Well, retrieving new boots, and then getting them sufficiently filthy."

"New boots? What was wrong with yours?"

"Nothing, save being encased in a block of ice."

Anders snorted and looked at her, confused for a moment before understanding dawned on him. "She was still upset, then?"

"You could say that," she smirked. "It's all been handled now, but my dear sister will be a bit occupied today." Hawke paused a moment, tapping her fingers on her knee. "I'm sorry about that, by the way. She's a bit of a spitfire when she's angry, but she normally knows better than to take it out on those wholly not responsible."

His eyes clouded for just a moment as he busied himself with wrapping a particularly wild tangle of branches. "It wasn't entirely her fault."

Hawke's eyebrows rose curiously. "Oh?"

"Still mostly her fault, but not entirely. As we walked home she was speaking, as you may suspect, about the unfair nature of her situation. She was still relatively calm though. It wasn't very long before I realized she was fishing for an agreement of some sort. I... disappointed her in that regard. Bethany was less than pleased." He smiled guiltily.

Hawke could barely contain her shock. "You... voluntarily disagreed with an irate woman? Are you daft?"

He chuckled warmly. "More or less."

"Well... thank you. Not just for walking her home, but for the backup as well. I do appreciate it." Hawke couldn't understand why she felt the burn of a flush creeping up her neck as she spoke.

Anders turned to her and gave her a soft, understanding smile. "Don't mention it, Hawke. You made the right decision. She wasn't capable of giving any more than she already had. I think what made her the most upset is that she knew it, too. One of the most important lessons any mage can learn is to know their own limits. It's better she learn it now and be upset, than push them and be killed."

He began bustling around again, picking up bundles of herbs and depositing them back in whatever boxes, chests, or cubbies they had originated from. "Besides, you were exhausted and under a lot of stress. The decision you made was a difficult one. Should you send a spent mage home, irate, and short yourself one more weapon against foes unknown, or have her come and aid you while taking the chance it may be disastrous for her? Bethany will appreciate it later. She may already. She's young, though, and still learning. Give her time."

Hawke blinked a moment in the face of such unexpected support. "Well... that's very kind of you, Anders. Thank you."

"You put a lot on yourself Hawke." He shrugged. "I was glad to help with what I could."

The clinic was quiet for a moment. The only noise was the soft rustling of dried leaves as Hawke contemplated his words. But, as usual, when left to spin its wheels, her mind presented her with the most ridiculous questions.

"Wait... how do you know I'm stressed? I haven't been snappy, have I? You haven't been around me long enough to tell..." She scrutinized the mage carefully, as if by squinting at him, she could glean some new information.

He laughed at her. "Hawke... I'm a healer, remember?" He brandished the last bundle of herbs at her like a stick pointed at her face. "How long have you had those circles under your eyes, hmm? You need to slow down before you fall to pieces one of these days."

She grimaced. True, Hawke hadn't been around a reflective surface in quite some time, but could the lines of exhaustion and dark circles under her eyes really be so pronounced?

"Oh, don't look like that. I'm supposed to be aware of these things. If you need something to help you sleep, I have about twelve different remedies you can try."

She sighed heavily, "If I get any more sleep than I already do, I will get absolutely nothing accomplished. Which... I'm currently not doing." She stood abruptly, "I have business up Sundermount today. Varric told me you were thinking of heading out of the city today as well. Mind keeping me company?"

He stared at her for the space of a heartbeat before smiling. "Of course I don't mind. I'll grab my packs."

* * *

><p>Varric was not far wrong. As Hawke trudged the trails winding up Sundermount, she swatted more spiders and flying insects away from her than she dared to count. She almost regretted returning home for her plate armor. The heat was tolerable, if barely, and despite popular belief, no one liked to be that shiny all the time. Still, the rustle of the straps holding her broadsword across her back was a noise she always found comforting.<p>

She did admit to herself that despite all the unpleasantness of the local wildlife, her day was turning out to be one of the more pleasant ones she'd had in a very long time. Jax loped happily at her side, darting off now and then to chase something small and furry. Anders was ideal company, listening when she spoke, and supplying a whole array of his own stories when she was finished.

"You... had a cat... named Ser Pounce-a-lot?" She could not help the incredulous angle of her eyebrows.

"He was a gift." The pouting tone in his voice was so false Hawke decided to ignore it. "A noble beast, swatted a genlock on the nose once. He drew blood too. Fierce little thing he was." He sighed gently, his eyes roaming over the hillsides. "Apparently loving small furry things makes me 'too soft.' The Wardens made me give him up. I think about him from time to time, though. He was always the best company."

Hawke could hear the sadness in his voice as he trailed off and wondered what she would do if someone told her she couldn't keep Jax anymore. She cut her eyes to the Mabari as he ran ahead of them. Whoever would be stupid enough to suggest that would likely walk home without a limb.

"Maybe you can get another pet? Dogs are loving and very useful..." Marian wondered if there was any way she could obtain a Mabari pup for Anders. It was just what he needed: a strong companion capable of aiding in defense of life and home, but also capable of cuddling when the need arises.

Anders snorted and Hawke cut her eyes at him. "They are extremely useful. I've just always been more of a cat person. They're free, independent. No one will ever be able to tell a cat what to do. If it loves you, it loves you, but that doesn't mean it's going to follow you around unless it wants to. I like that idea."

It seemed Anders was pursuing this more serious train of conversation. As he'd already put up with well over an hour of her joking asides, she could do no less than humor him.

"I imagine as a mage growing up in the Circle, an animal who was free to go where it wanted to go, when it wanted to go there would be inspiring."

Anders nodded solemnly, "You have no idea."

"Unfortunately," she continued, "we've all come to find that freedom still doesn't usually mean going where you want and doing as you like. It's largely about running."

"Your sister is very lucky, you know." Anders spotted something in the grass to his right and wandered a bit off the trail to retrieve it. Hawke waited patiently. "She has never even seen the inside of a Circle of Magi. She's never known their oppression, their indoctrination. She will never have to reconcile her faith to her second class station in it. She is free to act and live and believe as she likes. I hope she knows how precious that is."

Hawke pulled a small piece of dried meat from her pack and began chewing absentmindedly. "She knows. She may not know as well as you know for her, but she does know. My father made very sure she understood what it meant."

Anders finished tying off a small green bundle and shoving it in a pack. "Your father was a mage too, I've gathered."

"He was." A small, sad smile played across Hawke's face. "He was a wise and excellent man as well."

"I imagine he must have been. To keep an entire family out of the sight of the Templars for so many years is no easy feat. And he seems to have done a decent job raising you all, as well as keeping you safe. I wish I could have met the man."

"You would've liked him," she said to him, her smile turning thoughtful. "Actually, you remind me a bit of him. He was always very... driven."

"I'll take that as a compliment." He returned her smile.

"Oh, it is. I loved my father. He always spent more time with Bethany, but I understood. He made sure both Carver and I knew that he loved us all equally, but Bethany needed his special help to learn how to control her magic. His attentions to her were meant in the long run for the entire family. But he always made time for us." Hawke's vision began to blur ever so slightly around the edges. She turned away to look down the mountain. "He even pretended to be interested in my silly sword formations." She chuckled sadly. "He used to call me his fierce little warrior. One day he told me that when he was gone, he would need me. 'Protect our family,' he told me. 'They will always need someone watching over them, guarding them. When I can no longer do this, Marian, they will need you.' "

The quiet stretched between them a moment. Marian was lost in a vision of a time long past, her expression unreadable.

"How old were you?" Anders asked softly.

Hawke sniffed once and shrugged. "Some years younger than Bethany I'd imagine. I lose track."

"That is a heavy burden to put on a child." He sounded wistful, and sad.

"It is a heavy burden for anyone to bear. But it must be borne, and someone must stand up to do it." Her voice grew resolute. "It was always meant eventually for me. I had to make myself worthy to carry it."

"That's why you're going into the Deep Roads." His voice dropped almost to a whisper.

"That is why." Her eyes were fixed firmly on the mountainside ahead of them. What looked to be the Dalish camp they were searching for was rising out of the rocks in the distance. Her hand slipped absentmindedly into her pouch to wrap around an unusual amulet.

Anders sighed heavily and clapped her once on the shoulder. "You're an intimidating woman, Hawke, but inspiring as well. If one must accompany the other, then I suppose I don't mind. Come, let's be about our business and be on our way."


End file.
